T3^e  Hymn 
"JESVS  OF 
NAZARETH 
PASSETH  BY 


EMMA    F.  R, 
CAMPBELL 


FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


* -  fgW 


THE   HYMN 


ii 


Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  By" 


ITS    HISTORY 


AND   OTHER    VERSES 


V   / 


EMMA   F.  R.  CAMPBELL 


M.    E.   MUNSON,   Publisher 

77   Bible   House 

New  York 


Copyright,  1909 
By  M.  E.  MUNSON 


DEDICATION 

To    the    Memory    of 
MY  MOTHER 

WHOSE   LOVING  ASPIRATION   FOR   HER   CHILD 

WAS  THE  INSPIRATION   OF  ALL  THAT   IS  WORTHY  IN  THESE 

LIFE  THOUGHTS 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  HYMN 

"Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  By" 


"He  who  voices  the  thought  of  the  Christian 
heart  in  a  hymn  which  becomes  familiar  in  the 
songs  of  the  church  of  Christ,  is  sure  of  being 
held  in  grateful  memory."  g    g    Times 

"I  believe  that  I  would  rather  be  the  author 
of  one  good  hymn  than  of  anything  else  in  the 
world,  unless  it  be  sunshine."         j*   g  pHELPg 

Very  wonderful  it  seems  to  the  author  of  the 
simple  lines  entitled  "Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth 
By,"  that  such  honor  should  have  fallen  so  unex- 
pectedly upon  her.  Written  merely  as  a  metrical 
description  of  impressive  scenes  passing  around 
her,  it  was  farthest  from  her  thought  or  inten- 
tion that  they  should  ever  be  used  as  a  hymn, 
and  be  sung  with  marked  effect  in  just  such 
gatherings  as  those  that  suggested  them.  "Verily 
it  is  the  Lord's  doing  and  is  marvelous  in  our 
eyes." 

The  history  of  the  hymn  has  often  been  asked 
for  and  given  incorrectly  by  compilers  of  hymns 
with  their  origin.  It  is  briefly  this:  In  the 
Spring  of  1864  a  remarkable  religious  awakening 


occurred  in  Newark,  N.  J. — the  writer's  birth- 
place and  residence  at  that  time — in  connection 
with  the  services  of  the  Rev.  E.  P.  Hammond. 
All  classes  of  the  community  felt  its  power,  and 
the  largest  churches  and  halls  of  the  city  were 
crowded  day  and  night  by  eager,  earnest  men  and 
women,  and  children  as  well. 

Among  those  to  whom  such  scenes  were  new, 
and  who  for  the  first  time  realized  in  her  own 
experience  the  irresistible  power  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  in  revealing  the  fullness  and  freeness  of 
salvation  through  Christ,  was  a  young  Sabbath 
School  teacher  whose  heart  was  deeply  moved  by 
seeing  one  after  another  in  whom  she  was  inter- 
ested become  subjects  of  the  Spirit's  influence. 

At  one  of  the  services  the  topic  was  the  Gospel 
story  of  blind  Bartimeus,  who  asking  what  the 
noise  of  the  multitude  following  Jesus  meant,  was 
told,  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by."  Some  very 
impressive  comments  on  the  passage  were  made 
by  Mr.  Pardee,  the  well-known  Sabbath  School 
worker  of  that  day,  and  others,  and  much  deep 
feeling  was  manifested.  Under  the  effect  of  this 
stirring  application  of  the  Scripture  instance  of 
Christ's  compassion  for  and  ready  help  to  the 
needy  ones  thronging  His  earthly  pathway,  the 
verses  beginning,  "What  means  this  eager, 
anxious  throng,"  were  suggested  and  written  as 
descriptive  of  the  similar  scenes  occurring  in  our 
streets,  with  the  hope  that  such  a  presentation  of 
the  fact  of  Christ's  presence  in  our  midst,  ready 
and  able  to  save,  might  reach  some  souls  un- 
reached by  the  meetings.     They  were  sent  to  a 

vl 


local  paper  and  to  the  Sunday  School  Times, 
and  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  light  were  immedi- 
ately taken  by  Mr.  Hammond  and  added  to  a  col- 
lection of  hymns  he  was  about  to  publish  called 
"New  Praises  of  Jesus,"  set  to  the  tone  of 
"Sweet  Hour  of  Prayer,"  and  were  so  used  by 
him  in  subsequent  meetings.  Very  soon,  however, 
a  new  tune  was  written  for  what  had  now  be- 
come a  popular  hymn  by  the  lamented  Gospel 
singer  and  composer,  P.  P.  Bliss,  and  published 
in  his  collection  of  "Gospel  Songs."  But  this 
tune  did  not  prove  popular,  and  another  was 
composed  by  T.  E.  Perkins,  which  is  the  one  given 
in  the  Gospel  Hymns  and  sung  so  effectively  by 
Mr.  Sankey  in  Evangelistic  meetings  all  over  the 
world.  The  verses  were  first  published  over  the 
signature  of  "Eta,"  a  nom-de-plume  chosen  by 
the  writer  from  the  Greek  alphabet,  which  ac- 
counts for  its  appearance  in  the  earlier  hymn- 
books  as  by  "Miss  Eta  Campbell."  In  later  edi- 
tions of  the  Gospel  Hymns  the  error  has  been  cor- 
rected. 

In  reviewing  the  record  of  this  simple  produc- 
tion of  her  pen  the  author  of  "Jesus  of  Nazareth 
Passeth  By"  is  overwhelmed  with  grateful  sur- 
prise that  it  should  have  been  accorded  by  the 
Master  such  an  honored  place  among  the  agen- 
cies at  work  for  Him,  and  accepted  by  the  Holy 
Spirit  as  a  medium  of  His  power  in  awakening 
souls  and  winning  them  to  the  one  Saviour  of 
the  world.  Unquestionably  it  was  started  on  its 
mission  by  the  impressive  rendering  of  the  soul- 
ful   Christian    singer,   Ira   D.    Sankey,    and    that 

vil 


much  of  its  usefulness  is  due  to  his  appreciation 
of  its  possibilities,  and  his  intensity  of  desire  to 
make  it  effective  in  touching  sin-burdened  hearts 
and  leading  them  to  the  waiting  Healer.  And 
who  that  has  heard  him  sing  this  hymn  or  any 
other  can  ever  forget  the  tender,  earnest  tones  of 
that  persuasive  voice,  or  wonder  that  the  words 
should  retain  to  all  future  time  the  echo  of  the 
thrill  thus  imparted  to  them. 

Very  many  instances  have  been  related  of  the 
wonderful  effect  of  this  hymn  as  sung  by  Mr. 
Sankey  at  the  great  revival  services  of  the  two 
greatest  evangelists  of  the  last  century.  I  can 
only  mention  a  few.  One  writer,  the  Rev.  Dun- 
can Morrison  of  Canada,  who  has  written  sketches 
of  some  remarkable  hymns,  says  he  can  never 
forget  the  scene  he  once  beheld  in  Glasgow,  Scot- 
land, when  a  congregation  of  three  thousand  souls 
were  moved  by  the  thrilling  tones  of  that  master 
of  sacred  song  as  he  sang: 

"Too  late!  too  late!  will  be  the  cry, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  has  passed  by!" 

"The  latent  wail  that  for  the  moment  rose  to 
the  surface, — the  revelation  of  possible  despair  at 
the  gates  of  that  strange  other  world  to  which 
we  are  hastening" — was  irresistible.  In  a  book 
by  Rev.  Dr.  Boyd  recounting  the  remarkable 
career  of  Moody  and  Sankey  in  Great  Britain, 
many  incidents  are  told  of  the  use  and  effect  of 
this  hymn  in  the  immense  gatherings  in  the  great 
cities.  In  Belfast,  at  an  open-air  meeting  held 
for  the  mill  workers,  where  it  was  estimated  from 

vili 


ten  to  twenty  thousand  wore  gathered,  Mr. 
Sankey  sang  "Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  By"  in 

his  tender,  touching  style.  "While  he  was  Bulg- 
ing I  could  observe  in  the  glistening  eye  and  the 
deep  sighs  of  those  around  me  that  it  was  even 
so."  In  Dublin,  after  one  of  the  crowded  meet- 
ings, an  old  man  of  seventy  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  sobbing  as  he  said,  "I  was  utterly  careless 
about  my  soul  till  last  night,  but  have  been  so 
unhappy  since  I  could  not  sleep.  I  seemed  to 
hear  ringing  in  my  ears  'Jesus  of  Nazareth 
Passeth  By,'  and  if  I  don't  get  saved  now,  I 
never  shall."  In  Manchester,  Eng.,  a  band  of 
workers  was  organized  to  visit  every  house  with 
a  card  bearing  on  one  side  this  hymn,  and  on  the 
other  a  short  address  by  Mr.  Moody  on  the  text 
"Behold  I  stand  at  the  door  and  knock."  At 
one  of  the  meetings  in  Philadelphia  it  is  said 
by  one  who  was  present,  "As  Mr.  Sankey  was 
singing  this  hymn,  his  voice  in  the  lines  'Ho!  all 
ye  heavy  laden  come,'  and  afterward  'Too  late! 
too  late !  will  be  the  cry,'  became  so  low,  broken, 
full  of  pity,  and  clear  withal  that  dozens  of 
people  half  rose  from  their  seats  and  bent  for- 
ward toward  the  stage  as  if  by  magnetic  attrac- 
tion." 

The  key-note  of  its  popularity  thus  given  by 
Mr.  Sankey,  and  the  appropriation  of  it  to  His 
special  use  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  use  and  effect 
of  this  hymn  has  not  been  confined  to  the  large 
assembly  or  the  magnetic  tones  of  one  consecrated 
voice.  In  smaller  gatherings  all  over  the  world 
and  even  in  the  home   circle  it  has  proved  its 


mission  of  soul  awakening  and  hope  inspiring 
power.  One  instance  from  many  that  have  come 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  writer  is  peculiarly 
touching  to  her.  A  condemned  murderer  heard 
it  sung  at  the  religious  exercises  held  in  the 
prison,  and  was  strongly  impressed  and  led  to 
accept  the  hope  of  pardon  through  a  merciful 
Saviour.  During  the  last  days  of  his  life  he  fre- 
quently asked  to  have  it  sung;  and  the  day  be- 
fore his  execution  requested  that  it  might  be 
sung  the  following  Sunday,  saying,  "Who  knows 
that  I  may  not  hear  it.  If  not,  it  may  touch  the 
heart  of  some  other  poor  fellow  as  it  has  mine." 

But  perhaps  nothing  in  the  record  of  this  hymn 
has  brought  more  real  joy  and  gratitude  to  the 
heart  of  the  author  than  the  fact  that  it  is  sung 
by  converted  heathen  in  the  far  lands  of  India, 
Syria  and  other  foreign  mission  fields.  A  mis- 
sionary friend  in  India  wrote  of  having  heard 
it  sung  by  a  congregation  of  five  or  six  hundred 
natives  in  their  own  language — the  Marathi — 
with  thrilling  effect.  She  very  kindly  had  a  copy 
of  it  transcribed  for  the  writer  from  their  hymn- 
book  by  a  Hindoo  pundit — a  reproduction  of 
which  is  appended  to  this  sketch. 

Such  is  the  surprising  history  of  this  simple 
production.  It  is  but  an  illustration  of  God's 
wonderful  way  of  using  the  humble,  obscure 
forces  of  Christian  life  and  thought  to  accom- 
plish His  great  designs — "the  weak  things  of  the 
world  to  confound  the  mighty."  "Written  in  an 
hour  of  spiritual  fervor,  unconscious  of  any 
special   inspiration,    with   no    attempt    at   poetic 


imagery,  or  a  thought  that  it  would  live  beyond 
tlic  time  and  occasion  that  suggested  it,  the  re- 
sult has  proved  that  the  impulse  that  moved  the 
heart  and  the  pen  was  divine;  and  therefore  the 
hymn,  "Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  By,"  belongs 
only  to  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  to 
whom  with  the  Father,  who  giveth  gifts  to  the 
children  of  men,  be  all  the  glory. 


"JESUS  OF  NAZARETH 
PASSETH  BY" 

Luke  xviii  :  34. 
I 
What  means  this  eager,  anxious  throng 
Pressing  our  busy  streets  along? 
These  wondrous  gatherings  day  by  day, 
What  means  this  strange  commotion,  pray? 
Voices  in  accents  hushed  reply 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

II 
E'en  children  feel  the  potent  spell 
And  haste  their  new-found  joy  to  tell. 
In  crowds  they  to  the  place  repair 
Where  Christians  daily  bow  in  prayer, 
Hosannas  mingle  with  the  cry 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

Ill 
Who  is  this  Jesus?    Why  should  He 
The  city  move  so  mightily? 
A  passing  stranger,  has  He  skill 
To  move  the  multitude  at  will? 
Again  the  stirring  tones  reply 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

IV 
Jesus!   'tis  He  who  once  below 
Man's  pathway  trod  mid  pain  and  woe; 
And  burdened  ones  where'er  He  came 
Brought  out  their  sick  and  deaf  and  lame. 
Blind  men  rejoiced  to  hear  the  cry 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

V 
Again  He  comes — from  place  to  place 
His  holy  footprints  we  can  trace; 
He  pauses  at  our  threshold,  nay, 
He  enters,  condescends  to  stay! 
Shall  we  not  gladly  raise  the  cry 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 


xil 


VI 
Bring  out  your  sick  and  blind  and  lame, 
'Tis  to  restore  them  Jesus  came; 
Compassion  infinite  you'll  find 
With  boundless  power  in  Him  combined. 
Come  quickly  while  salvation's  nigh, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

VII 
Ye  sin-sick  souls,  who  feel  your  need, 
He  comes  to  you,  a  Friend  indeed; 
Rise  from  your  weary,  wakeful  couch, 
Haste  to  secure  His  healing  touch; 
No  longer  sadly  wait  and  sigh, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

VIII 
Ho!  all  ye  heavy  laden,  come! 
Here's  pardon,  comfort,  rest,  a  home; 
Ye  wanderers  from  a  Father's  face, 
Return,  accept  His  proffered  grace. 
Ye  tempted,  there's  a  refuge  nigh, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

IX 
Ye  who  are  buried  in  the  grave 
Of  sin,  His  power  alone  can  save; 
His  voice  can  bid  your  dead  souls  live, 
True  spirit-life  and  freedom  give. 
Awake!  arise!  for  strength  apply, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  passeth  by." 

X 

But  if  you  still  this  call  refuse, 
And  dare  such  wondrous  love  abuse, 
Soon  will  He  sadly  from  you  turn, 
Your  bitter  prayer  for  mercy  spurn. 
Too  late!  too  late!  will  be  the  cry, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  has  passed  by." 


xlll 


TRANSLATION   IN    MARATHI 


^  tit  t'sftjr  ^^  m*r\ 


'J^Jl  £LK\  Jfa£    4^^    "^ 


LATIN  TRANSLATION. 
By  Rev.  Duncan  Morrison,  M.A. 
Quid  sit  hsec  appetens  turma, 
Tarn  circumfusa,  anxia — 
lstae  mirabiles  turbae 
In  dies  viis  et  urbe? 
Suppressa  voce  plebs  spondet: 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  nunc  transit." 
Quis  este  Jesus?    Is  quare 
Ferturbat  urbem  tarn  mire? 
An  advena  possit  imo 
Volente  cire  earn  quando? 
Deinde  vox  rursum  spondet: 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  nunc  transit." 
Jesus!  qui  semel  habitans 
Nobiscum,  morbos  et  ferens 
Sanavit  aegros  populi, 
Feccatum  abtulit  mundi; 
Deinde  vox  caeci  spondet: 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  nunc  transit." 
Is  rursus  venit!   Et  passim 
Descernimus  vestigium; 
Stat  ad  limen;  intrat  immo 
Ut  habitet  nobis — templo! 
Hinc  laetus  populus  spondet: 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  nunc  transit." 
O  onerati  et  fessi, 
Hie  domus,  quies,  lux  cordi; 
Errantes  omnes  ab  Patre, 
Infirmi  omnes  fugite 
Asylum;  usque  vox  spondet: 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  nunc  transit." 
Sin  ista  res  inutilis 
Habetur,  amor  et  talis; 
Abvertet  cito;  turn  magnl 
Plorates  omnes  irriti; 
Oh  nimis  serum,  vox  erit, 
"Jesus  Naz'renus  transiit." 

xvl 


OTHER  VERSES 


INDEX 

PULSES   OF    INNER   LIFE. 

PAGE 

"Not  Unto  Us" 3 

My  Need 4 

TnE  Still  Small  Voice 5 

Consecration 6 

Watching  fob  Souls 7 

The  Teacher's  Saturday  Night  Prayer    ...  8 

Prayer  to  the  Spirit 9 

The  Call  to  United  Prayer  for  Sabbath  Schools  .  10 

My  Will  and  Thine 11 

A  Lesson        .        .        . 11 

Satisfied 13 

My  Heaven 14 

Penitential 15 

O  Thou  of  Little  Faith 16 

A  New  Year  Prayer 17 

Cast  Down  but  not  Destroyed          ....  18 

Marah — Elim 19 

Aspiration 19 

ECHOES  OF  THE  WORD. 

Christmas  Hymn 23 

No  Room  for  Jesus 23 

Come  Unto  Me 24 

Ye  Will  Not  Come 25 

Wilt  Thou  Be  Made  Whole? 26 

The  Bread  of  Life 27 

Come  Rest  Awhile 28 

XVil 


PAGE 

On  a  Picture  of  Christ  Blessing  Little  Children  .  29 

In  the  Storm 30 

We  Have  Toiled  All  Night 31 

The  Night  Cometh 82 

No  Hope .        .33 

Him  that  Overcometh 34 

Prove  Me 85 

Inasmuch 36 

And  it  Was  Night 37 

The  Prayer  on  Olivet 38 

Ecce  Homo 40 

God's   Christ 42 

Eloi!   Eloi!   Lama  Sabachthani0       ....  43 

Our  Easter  Call 44 

No  More  Sea 46 

No  More  Death 47 

IN  THE  SHADOW. 

De   Profundis 51 

The  National  Funeral 52 

Thanks   and   Supplication 53 

"O  Woman!  Great  is  Thy  Faith!"           ...  55 

"Why?" 56 

"Not  Dead,  but  Risen" 57 

"Twilight  Dell" — Greenwood 58 

Sudden  Transition CO 

'Tis  Just  Across  the  River 61 

Under  the  Rod 63 

In  Darkness 64 

Lulie's  First  Birthday  in  Heaven  ....  65 

Suffer  the  Children 67 

"Is   it  Well?" 68 

xvlll 


PAGE 

On  the  Brink  of  the  River 69 

A  Minor   Strain 71 

The  Vanished  Hand 73 

A  Year  Ago 73 

Afterward 76 

A  Tribute  of  Grateful  Love 77 

To   One   Beloved            78 

TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 

The  Reawakening 81 

Springtime 82 

Seed-time 82 

Autumn  Contrasts       . 83 

The  Death  of  the  Leaves 84 

The  First  Frost. 85 

Thanksgiving  Hymn  in  War  Time     ....  86 

Thanksgiving  Hymn  for  Peace          ....  87 

The  Closing  Year 88 

Farewell  to  the  Year 90 

A  New  Year  Reverie             90 

A  New  Year  Thought 91 

"Happy   New   Year!" 93 

Birthday   Verses 94 

On  Taking  Down  the  Christmas  Greens          .        .  95 

Night 90 

True  Worship 96 

OCCASIONAL. 
A  Hymn  of  Praise — Centennial        .        .        .        .101 

L'Envoi 103 

Mizpah 104 

Our  Manse 105 

xlx 


After  a  Sabbath  School  Convention 
Anniversary  Hymn  for  an  Orphan  Asylum 
Anniversary  Hymn  for  a  Sabbath  School 
Hymns   fob  Children 

Invitation 

Praise  and  Consecration 

Rejoicing  in  Jesus 

Working  for  Jesus 

"I'll  Watch  for  You  All. 
The  Invalid's  Comfort 


pagb 
107 

108 

109 

110 

110 

111 

111 

112 

113 

114 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Christmas  in  the  Arctic  Regions    ....  119 

The  Lost  Child 121 

To  the  Katydid 122 

Fort  Sumter 123 

Eulogy  on  a  Turkey 124 

To  the  Wild  Carrot  125 

"Don't  Worry" 126 

For  a  May  Day  Celebration 127 

The  Last  Sigh  of  the  Moob 128 


PULSES  OF  INNER  LIFE 


"NOT  UNTO  US." 

Suggested  upon  hearing  that  some  simple  lines  of  the 
writer's  had  been  found,  pinned  in  the  Bible  of  a  dear 
young  Christian  girl  after  her  death. 

Not  unto  me,  nor  mine, 
Be  praise  for  aught  of  good  I  may  have  done 
By  hand  or  tongue  throughout  these  earthly  days; 
Mine  be  the  grateful  joy,  Thine  all  the  praise, 
Giver  of  every  gift  or  grace!  alone 

All  glory  shall  be  Thine! 

If  any  deed  of  mine 
Hath  helped  a  brother  on  Life's  weary  way, 
Lightened,  if  but  a  jot,  his  heavy  load, 
Removed  one  stone  of  stumbling  from  his  road, 
Father,  I  thank  Thee!    Thine  the  power  alway, 

The  glory  shall  be  Thine. 

If  any  word  of  mine 
Hath  chanced  to  fall  with  helpful  tenderness 
On  throbbing  heart,  or  led  one  thirsty  soul 
To  Elim's  springs  to  drink  and  be  made  whole, 
I  thank  Thee  for  the  blessing  thus  to  bless; 

All  glory  shall  be  Thine. 

If  any  thought  of  mine, 
Wafted  afar  upon  the  white-winged  page, 
Hath  found  unsought  a  silent  ministry 
Of  comfort  or  of  loving  sympathy, 
^  Some  patient  suff'rer's  death-pangs  to  assuage, 

The  glory  shall  be  Tnine. 

If  any  song  of  mine, 
Though  but  in  faltering  cadence  sung, 
Hath  caught  the  ear  above  Earth's  dreary  din, 
And  cheered  the  wayside  toiler,  or  hath  been 
A  saving  charm  around  some  wanderer  flung, 

The  glory,  Lord,  be  Thine. 


If  this  poor  life  of  mine 
Shall  in  the  smallest  measure  help  to  make 
This  world  the  better  for  its  living,  so 
That  (lying,  I  not  unremembered  go, 
Lord,  through  eternity  my  praises  take, 

All  glory  ever  Thine. 


MY  NEED. 

Lord,  I  have  need  of  patience,  grant  it  me, 
Patience  to  bear  the  ills  I  can't  remove; 

These  vexing  cares,  this  oft  infirmity, 

And  tasks  which  for  my  strength  too  heavy  prove. 

Lord,  I  have  need  of  meekness,  grant  it  me; 

I  fain  would  do  great  things  for  God  and  man, 
And  fret  because  I  cannot.    Let  me  be 

Content  to  do  the  little  that  I  can. 

Lord,  I  have  need  of  courage,  grant  it  me, 
Bravely  to  fight  though  well  nigh  overcome. 

To  falter  not,  though  dark  the  way  may  be, 
And  hedged  with  thorns  each  step  that  leads  me  home. 

Lord  I  have  need  of  wisdom,  grant  it  me, 
Wisdom  to  know  and  do  Thy  will  aright; 

To  choose  Thy  way,  when  doubtful  I  may  be 
Which  path  will  lead  me  out  into  the  light. 

Lord,  1  have  need  of  faith,  Oh  grant  it  me! 

Faith  to  take  hold  of  unseen  things  and  rest 
Quiet  amid  the  storm,  though  fierce  it  be, 

As  trusting  child  upcn  its  lather's  breast. 

Lord,  'tis  Thyself  I  need,  then  shall  I  be 
Patient  and  meek  and  strong  to  do  or  bear; 

Then  shall  I  know  and  trust,  if  Thou  in  me 
Abide,  and  I  Thy  faultless  image  wear. 


THE  STILL  SMALL  VOICE. 

Not  with  the  blinding  light 
That  struck  the  impious  Saul  in  terror  to  the  ground; 

Nor  with  the  voice  of  might 
That  called  dead   Lazarus  forth,  waked  from  his  sleen 
profound; 

Not  with  the  startling  roll 
Of  Sinai's  thunders,  with  their  mystery  and  awe, 

Crushing  the  conscious  soul 
Beneath  the  dread  revealings  of  an  unkept  law; 

But  with  a  voice  so  small 
'Twas  scarcely  heard  amid  earth's  busy  toil  and  din, 

To  me  came  Mercy's  call — 
To  me,  a  wandering  sheep,  lost  in  the  wilds  of  sin — 

So  gentle  was  its  tone, 
I  would  not  list  nor  heed.     "Sure  it  is  naught,"  I  said, 

"Naught  but  my  heart  alone, 
Quickened  with  foolish  fear  it  beats  with  louder  tread." 

But  yet  it  came  and  came — 
Through  the  still  chamber  of  my  soul  its  whisper  mild 

Tenderly  called  my  name 
And  said  "Why  will  you  die?    I  died  for  you,  my  child." 

At  length,  aroused,  I  cried 
"Who   art   Thou,   Lord?   and   why   to   me   so   wondrous 
kind?" 

Quickly  the  voice  replied 
"I  am  the  Shepherd  who  my  straying  lamb  would  find." 

O  sweetest  voice  of  love! 
Could  stoutest  heart  of  rock  withstand  Thy  melting  tone, 

Or  coldly  fail  to  move 
With  penitence?  "Dear  Lord!"    I   cried,  "behold   Thine 
own." 

Now  with  an  ear  attent 
I  list  with  joy  the  still  small  voice  within  my  breast, 

Blest  Guide  and  Teacher  sent 
By  Love,  henceforth  to  be  my  dear,  abiding  guest. 


Speak  to  me  ever,  Lord, 
In  accents  low  and  sweet;  let  earth's  turmoil  be  still 

That  every  tender  word 
Of  Thine  my  spirit's  inmost  depths  may  quickly  thrill. 


CONSECRATION. 
£After  reading  the  Memorials  of  F.  R.  Havergal.) 

"All  for  Jesus!"    Oh,  to  know 
Such  unbounded  zeal  below! 
Consecration  so  complete, 
Self  laid  down  at  Jesus'  feet! 

All  for  Jesus!   not  a  part, 
Soul  and  body,  brain  and  heart; 
Day  by  day  my  all  to  bring 
To  the  service  of  my  King. 

All  my  powers  in  sweet  accord 
With  my  Master's  will  and   word; 
Not  a  thought  or  wish  my  own, 
My  whole  being  His  alone. 

His  to  govern,  His  to  guide, 

His  to  use  or  cast  aside; 

His  own  messenger  to  be 

Of  His  grace  so  rich  and  free — 

Or,  His  purpose  to  fulfill — 

His  to  suffer  and  be  still. 

Oh,  can  I  this  height  attain 
Over  earth  and  self  to  reign? 
Lifted  on  the  wings  of  love, 
Serve  as  do  the  saints  above? 

Lord,  the  secret  power  impart, 
Kindle  in  this  languid  heart 
This  faint  spark  of  warm  desire 
To  a  flame  of  holy  fire. 


Grant  me,  Saviour,  thus  to  know 
All  Thy  will  as  mine  below, 
Take  me,  hold  me,  let  me  be 
Wholly  consecrate  to  Thee. 

Here  with  Jesus  sanctified, 
There  with  Jesus  glorified; 
All  to  Jesus  to  belong, 
"All  for  Jesus!"  be  my  song! 


WATCHING  FOR  SOULS. 

To  watch  for  souls!   this  is  the  Christian's  task, 

His  life-work  here  below; 
With  earnest  faith  and  an  untiring  zeal 

His  Master's  love  to  show. 


As  the  lone  sentinel  his  vigil  keeps 

In  watch-tower  by  the  sea, 
To  save  the  lost  and  guide  the  storm-tossed  home, 

So  must  the  Christian  be. 

Or  as  the  husbandman  with  patient  care 

Scatters  the  early  grain, 
And  watches  till  the  springing  blade  and  ear 

Rewards  his  toil  again. 

Thus  let  me  watch  and  wait  while  life  shall   last 

Let  me  not  weary  be; 
But  ever  sow  the  seed  though  in  this  world 

No  harvest  comes  to  me. 

Since  when  the  final  reaping-day  shall  come, 

I  may  astonished  find 
Some  little  sheaf  among  the  wheat,  perchance, 

I  may  have  helped  to  bind. 


THE  TEACHER'S  SATURDAY  NIGHT 
PRAYER. 

Weary  of  worldly  thought, 

Of  Earth's  perplexing  care, 
My  longing  soul  this  Right  would  find 

Refreshment,  Lord,  in  prayer. 

Help  me  to  lay  aside 

The  business  of  the  week, 
And  with  new  consecration  now 

Thy  blessing  humbly  seek. 

Oh  purify  my  heart 

From  every  sinful  trace; 
And  grant  me  in  Thy  love,  dear  Lord, 

A  Sabbath  robe  of  grace. 

Prepare  me  for  my  work, 

That  with  to-morrow's  light 
I  may  go  forth  with  earnest  zeal 

To  labor  in  Thy  might. 

Oh  make  me  wise  to  win 

Some  precious  soul  to  Thee; 
Teach  me,  that  I  Thy  word  may  teach 

As  for  Eternity. 

Too  oft  my  spirit,  Lord, 

Is  tempted  to  despair 
So  little  fruit  from  scattered  seed 

Rewards  my  toil  and  care. 

And  yet  I  surely  know 

Thy  Truth  can  never  fail. 
Though  buried  long  'twill  rise  at  last 

And  mightily  prevail. 

Inspire  my  heart  with  faith 

And  strength  to  labor  on 
Through  doubt  and  weariness  until 

The  victory  is  won. 

8 


PRAYER  TO  THE  SPIRIT. 

How  long,  O  Lord,  must  still  delay 
The  coming  of  the  harvest  day? 
In  weariness  we  wait  and  pray, 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

With  hope  deferred  our  hearts  are  worn, 
Faith  falters  watching  for  the  morn; 
Sin  triumphs  while  we  sit  forlorn, 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

These  human  efforts,  ah  how  vain! 
How  hopeless  all  our  care  and  pain 
Without  Thy  gracious,  quickening  rain, 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

For  Paul  may  plant  with  wisest  care, 
Apollos  all  his  labors  share, — 
Tis  naught  unless  Thy  power  is  there; 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

In  various  soil  we  sow  the  seed, 
With  earnest  faith  and  patient  deed; 
Yet  waiting  seems  our  only  meed. 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

We  wrestle  with  a  stronger  will, 
Work  as  we  may,  'tis  ready  still 
To  crush  the  good  with  might  of  ill; 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

The  work  is  Thine  to  change  the  heart 
And  to  dead  souls  new  life  impart; 
To  bid  the  demon  Sin  depart; 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

Come  bring  at  last  the  promised  hour 
When  buried  Truth  shall  bud  and  flower;- 
Seed  sown  in  weakness,  raised  in  power — 
O  Holy  Spirit,  come! 

9 


THE  CALL  TO  UNITED  PRAYER  FOR 
SABBATH  SCHOOLS. 

October  20,  21,  1872. 

From  o'er  the  sea  came  the  Muezzin  call, — 
A  loud  appeal  to  Christ's  disciples  all — 
"To  prayer!  To  prayer!  let  every  heart  and  tongue — 
To  supplicate  God's  blessing  on  the  young — 
Join  us  in  prayer." 

From  lip  to  lip  passed  on  the  earnest  word, 
And  heart  to  heart  in  quick  response  was  stirred; 
With  hand  in  hand  Christians  of  various  creed, — 
Ever  a  brotherhood  in  such  a  deed — 
Gathered  for  prayer. 

Far  in  the  North  amid  the  early  snow, 
In  the  far  South  where  tropic  breezes  blow, 
Here  where  the  russet  leaf  of  Autumn  shows, 
From  shore  to  shore,  like  clouds  of  incense,  rose 
United  prayer. 

The  weary  teacher  faltering  in  his  task 
Looks  up  with  hope  as  fellow-toilers  ask 
God's  blessing  on  his  work;  and  with  new  zest 
Resolves  with  faith  to  labor  on — refreshed, 
Strengthened  by  prayer. 

The  careless  scholar,  far  from  God  astray, 
Pauses  to  hear  two  lands  unite  to  pray 
For  such  as  he;   and  roused  to  a  new  sense 
Of  guilt  and  danger,  bows  in  earnest  penitence 
To  join  the  prayer. 

Dear  Lord!  let  not  Thy  people  pray  in  vain, 
Oh  send  us  speedily  a  gracious  rain; 
Water  the  seed  long  sown,  let  it  now  spring 
To  life,  a  glorious  fruitage  bring, 
Answer  our  prayer. 

10 


MY  WILL  AND  THINE. 

Lord,  I'd  gladly  do  for  Thee, — 
Work  with  earnest  heart  and  will, 

Foremost  in  the  ranks  of  those 
Who  Thine  earthly  vineyard  till. 

I  would  spend  my  utmost  strength 
Doing  daily  tasks  for  Thee; 

Counting  weariness  and  loss 
Joy,  so  I  Thy  glory  see. 

But  my  will  to  do  is  crossed 

Often  by  a  stronger  will; 
Mid  my  toil,  a  voice  divine 

Bids  me  suffer  and  he  still. 

As  a  captive  bird  1  pant, 
Fret  and  flutter  to  be  free; 

Mourn,  as  round  me  undone  tasks 
Wait  my  doing  hopelessly. 

On  my  strength  a  hand  is  laid, — 
Sinking  helpless  in  the  dust, 

'Neath  a  weight  of  weakness  bowed,— 
I  can  only  wait  and  trust. 

Is  my  work  so  little  worth? 

Hast  Thou,  Lord,  of  me  no  need? 
Can  Thy  vineyard  all  be  tilled 

With  no  help  of  mine,  indeed? 

Lord,  then  give  me  grace  to  lie 
Passive  as  a  child  at  rest; 

If  by  suffering  patiently 
I  can  glorify  Thee  best. 


A  LESSON. 

I  learned  an  earnest  truth  to-day 
As  through  the  city  street 

I  hastened  with  a  troubled  heart 
And  quick  impatient  feet. 


11 


A  little  child,  blindfolded,  crossed 

The  crowded,  slippery  mart, 
Where  prancing  steeds  and  rattling  wheels 

Might  shake  the  stoutest  heart. 

But  in  that  happy,  careless  face 

There  was  no  sign  of  fear, 
For  though  she  could  not  see  his  smile 

She  felt  her  father  near. 

His  arm  of  love  enfolded  her, 

She  knew  the  pressure  mild; 
And  knew  he'd  shield  from  every  harm 

His  little  helpless  child. 

And  so  with  sweet  confiding  faith 

She  lightly  tripped  along 
The  dark  and  treach'rous  road,  without 

A  fear  of  going  wrong. 

And  all  the  while  the  father  bent 

Upon  his  sightless  child 
A  pitying  smile,  and  the  rough  way 

With  tender  words  beguiled. 

Ah!  me!   1  thought,  and  is  it  thus 

My  Father  leadeth  me 
Along  the  tangled  maze  of  life 

Where  not  a  step  I  see? 

And  does  His  strong  and  loving  arm 

As  tenderly  enfold 
His  weary  child  who  faints  amid 

The  darkness  and  the  cold? 

O  thou  of  little  faith;  why  then 

Thus  falter  and  complain 
Because  thou  canst  not  see  the  way 

Which  is  to  Him  so  plain? 

12 


Why  thus  so  sadly  count  thy  woes 

And  think  thyself  alone; 
When  thy  sure  Comforter  and  Guide 

Is  the  Almighty  One? 

Dear  Father,  help  me  to  believe 

And  feel  Thee  ever  near. 
Oh  draw  me  closer  to  Thy  side 

That  I  Thy  voice  may  hear. 

And  let  me  calmly  lean  on  Thee 
When  cares  and  crosses  come; 

Knowing  Thine  own  most  loving  hand 
Will  safely  lead  me  home. 


SATISFIED. 

O  questioning  soul!  be  still; 
Calm  these  vain  longings  for  unbounded  lore 
Which  thy  weak  powers  so  weary  and  perplex; 
Rest  thee  and  wait  until 
The  promised  morning  dawns  when  thou  no  more, 
Linked  to  this  heavy  clay,  thy  faith  shall  vex 
With  mysteries  untried — 
Thou  shalt  be  satisfied. 

0  unsolved  doubts!    O  things 
Hard  to  be  understood  by  mortal  mind! 

How  will  your  phantoms  vanish  in  the  light 

Infinite  morning  brings! 
The  problem  of  my  life,  so  strangely  blind 
To  human  reason — dark  to  mortal  sight, 

Then  well  descried, 

1  shall  be  satisfied. 

Be  patient  then,  my  soul! 
Search  meekly  after  truth,  and  be  content 
With  such  a  measure  as  God  gives  His  own; 
Till  at  thy  destined  goal, 

13 


The  mystic  veil  before  thy  vision  rent, 
Thou  shalt  know  all,  e'en  as  thyself  is  known, 
And  like  thy  God  abide 
Forever  satisfied! 


MY  HEAVEN. 

Rev.    vii.  :  15. 
'Tis  not  of  rest  from  toil,  however  sweet 

That  rest  will  be 

To  one  who  wearily 
Has  trod  life's  paths,  with  aching  head  and  feet. 

'Tis  not  of  careless  ease, — the  surgeless  sea 

Of  unmixed  bliss — 

In  whose  calm  blessedness 
My  soul  can  bathe  to  all  eternity; 

Nor  yet  in  rapture  lost  to  sit  and  sing 

The  glad  new  song, 

Mid  the  angelic  throng, 
"White  robed,  with  golden  harp  and  seraph  wing; 

Nor  yet  to  wave  the  palm  or  wear  the  crown 

Of  victory  complete; 

E'en  though  at  Jesus'  feet 
Twould  be  sweet  joy  to  cast  my  trophies  down. 

A  higher  heaven  I  crave,  dear  Lord,  grant  me 

Thyself  to  know, 

And  perfectly  to  do 
Thy  bidding  in  some  blessed  ministry. 

Here  'tis  such  joy  to  serve  Thee,  but  these  powers, 

Enshrined  in  clay, 

Soon  weary  and  give  way 
'Neath  the  stern  needs  of  this  sad  world  of  ours. 

Oh  to  be  tireless!  heart  and  brain  and  nerve 

Forever  free 

From  earth's  infirmity, 
By  day  and  night  my  gracious  God  to  serve! 

14 


To  know  as  I  am  known!    Karth's  questioning  o'er, 

With  ease  to  clasp 

Truths  I  here  fail  to  grasp, 
And  God's  infinity  of  love  explore! 

This  is  my  thought  of  Heaven;  eternally 

In  strength  to  grow, 

To  love,  to  do,  to  know, 
To  live  with  Christ  in  sweet  activity. 


PENITENTIAL. 

Oh  Thou  that  hearest  prayer! 

Listen  to  me; 
My  burdened  heart  its  care 

Would  cast  on  Thee. 

Thy  promise  stands  secure, 
That  Thou  wilt  hear 

Him  who  in  spirit  poor 
Offers  his  prayer. 

Saviour!    I  know  my  heart 

Is  full  of  sin; 
But  Thou  canst  grace  impart 

To  make  it  clean. 

No  merit  of  my  own 

To  Thee  I  bring; 
To  Thy  dear  cross  alone, 

Trembling  I  cling. 

Thine  all-atoning  blood 

Was  shed  for  me; 
Oh,  precious  Lamb  of  God! 

I  trust  in  Thee. 

Low  at  Thy  feet  I  wait, 

Guilty  and  weak; 
Now  let  Thy  mercy  great 

My  pardon  speak. 


1.3 


Then  shall  my  future  days 
To  Thee  be  given; 

To  Thee  eternal  praise 
On  earth,  in  Heaven. 


O  THOU  OF  LITTLE  FAITH ! 

Ever  some  great  ill  expecting, 

Trustless  one! 
Present  good  too  oft  neglecting, 

Work  undone. 

Every  passing  cloud  beholding. 

Sure  'tis  night! 
E'en  though  morn  is  just  unfolding 

Beams  of  light. 

At  each  disappointment  grumbling 

Day  by  day. 
Every  mote  a  rock  of  stumbling 

In  thy  way. 

Thankless  heart!  cease  such  repining, 

Trust  and  wait; 
Know  God's  love  is  on  thee  shining 

In  every  strait. 

In  thine  own  dark  shadow  hiding, 

Thou  canst  not  see 
God's  bright  promise-bow  abiding 

Over  thee. 

He  who  for  the  sparrow  careth 

Not  in  vain, 
Sure  His  burdened  children  spareth 

Needless  pain. 

Take  to-day  or  joy  or  sorrow 

At  His  word. 
Leave  the  burden  of  to-morrow 

With  thy  Lord. 


16 


A  NEW  YEAR  P RAVER. 

Before  the  new  year's  portal 

With  waiting  feet  I  stand 
And  seek,  dear  Lord,  a  blessing, 

The  guidance  of  Thy  hand. 
The  path  is  all  untrodden, 

No  human  footfall  yet 
Has  left  a  trace  to  follow, 

And  save  our  vain  regret. 

The  way  seems  dark  before  me, 

With  no  clear  guiding  light; 
All  unrevealed  its  dangers 

To  my  dim  mortal  sight. 
Father,  I  dare  not  venture 

One  single  step  alone, 
Lest  I  in  blindness  stumble 

Against  some  hidden  stone. 

Known  to  Thy  higher  wisdom 

Is  all  my  future  way; 
Its  roughnesses  and  windings, 

Its  snares  to  lead  astray. 
Unguided  1  shall  wander, 

Lord,  let  me  take  Thy  hand, 
And  hold  Thou  up  my  goings, 

That  I  secure  may  stand. 

I  know  not  what  awaits  me 

Along  the  coming  year, 
What  cup  of  joy  untasted, 

What  weariness  or  fear; 
Beneath  what  weight  of  sorrow 

I  may  be  called  to  bow, 
How  near  the  dreary  shadow 

Falls  on  my  pathway  now. 

But  this  I  know,  undoubting, 
That  not  too  great  or  strong, 

Will  be  the  cross  Thou'lt  give  me, 
The  darkness  not  too  long; 

17 


For  loving  like  a  father 

Thou  chastenest  but  to  bless; 

And  with  each  needed  trial 
Will  give  sustaining  grace. 

Lord,  quiet  these  forbodings, 

These  human  doubts  remove; 
Give  me  childlike  assurance, 

A  calm,  unwavering  love. 
Let  me  go  forward  bravely, 

With  willing,  trusting  feet, 
Through  Thine  own  strength  to  conquer 

Each  enemy  I  meet. 


'CAST  DOWN,  BUT  NOT  DESTROYED.' 

Why  art  thou  thus  cast  down,  my  soul, 

Why  so  disquieted? 
Hope  thou  in  God,  thou  yet  shall  praise 
The  hand  that  through  these  devious  ways 

Thy  stumbling  feet  have  led. 

What  though  fresh  trouble  like  a  cloud 

Thy  sky  hath  overcast? 
Though  disappointments  mar  thy  lot, 
Thy  Father's  love  which  changes  not 

Will  make  all  bright  at  last. 

This  life  is  but  a  trial  hour, 

A  pilgrimage  at  best; 
It  may  be  that  the  heaviest  load, 
The  darkest  sky,  the  roughest  road, 

End  in  the  surest  rest. 

And  when  from  Beulah's  hills  reviewed, 

Thou  thankfully  shall  see 
How  brighter  paths  but  lured  astray, 
While  this  same  crooked,  thorny  way 

Led  straight  to  victory. 

lb 


Oh  to  be  patient  in  the  fire! 

God's  hottest  furnace  blast! 
Calmly  to  smile  mid  sternest  ill, 
And  meekly  bend  to  His  sweet  will, 

Assured  of  joy  at  last. 


MARAH— ELIM. 

I  know,  dear  Lord,  Thou  dost  not  overtask 
The  soul  that  in  its  weakness  leans  on  Thee; 

If  near  to  falling  it  need  only  ask, 
And  underneath,  the  Everlasting  arms  shall  be. 

My  burden  was  so  heavy,  'neath  its  weight 
My  human  strength  gave  way  in  mute  despair. 

I  reached  for  help — a  Hand  clasped  mine,  and  straight 
My  load  was  gone.    He  carried  all  my  care. 

My  gracious  Lord!     How  can  I  ever  doubt 

Again  Thy  present  sympathy  and  love? 
Let  deepest  darkness  compass  me  about, 

No  shadow  shall  my  confidence  remove. 

Thy  ready  touch  can  change  the  night  to  day, 

The  Marah  bitterness  to  Elim  sweet; 
Here  will  I  calmly  rest,  and  trusting  lay 

My  heaviest  burden  at  Thy  willing  feet. 


ASPIRATION. 

Father  of  spirits!  Thou  who  deignst  to  hear 
The  wild-notes  of  the  forest  throng, 

Who  mid  the  shadowy  stillness  strangely  clear 
Uplift  their  song. 

Listen  to  one  whose  heart  as  strangely  thrills 

With  melody  alike  divine; 
Whose  soul,  unbounded  by  Earth's  narrow  hills, 

Would  reach  to  Thine. 


It) 


Whose  yearning  spirit  pants  with  wild  unrest 

Amid  life's  daily,  toilsome  round, 
Unsatisfied  to  grovel  thus  unblest 

On  mortal  ground. 

Thoughts  of  the  far-off,  infinite,  unknown, 

Crowd  dimly  on  my  busy  brain, 
Waking  within  a  deep  mysterious  tone, 

A  voiceless  strain. 

Almighty  Power!  grant  me  the  strength  and  skill 

To  strike  aright  the  chord  divine, 
And  utterance  give  the  harmonies  that  thrill 

This  soul  of  mine. 

Inspire  my  thought,  while  I  essay  to  train 

My  unfledged  fancy's  timid  flight 
To  lofty  heights — nor  let  me  soar  in  vain 

Mid  visions  bright. 

Give  me  the  power  a  blessing  to  impart 

To  many  a  weary  child  of  Earth. 
To  lift  the  fallen,  soothe  the  aching  heart, 

Give  Hope  new  birth. 

Help  me  to  grasp  great  truths,  and  hidden  forms 

Of  life  and  beauty  to  reveal — 
God's  bow  of  promise  spanning  earth's  dark  storms 

Sin's  clouds  conceal. 

Then  shall  this  earth-life  be  a  hymn  of  praise, 

With  grateful  love  in  every  line; 
Then  mine  the  toil,  the  daily  soul-full  lays, 

The  glory  Thine. 


30 


ECHOES  OF  THE  WORD 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

All  hail!  Holy  day!  we  welcome  again 

With  grateful  rejoicing  the  morn 
Which  brought  the  glad  news  to  the  Judean  plain 

Of  JESUS— Immanuel— born! 

O  wonder  of  wonders!  O  Love  condescending! 

A  God  in  a  frail  helpless  child! 
The  Infinite  One  with  humanity  blending, 

Jehovah  with  man  reconciled. 

Ah!  well  might  the  angels  announce  the  strange  story, 

And  herald  this  wonderful  birth 
Which  brought  hope  to  man,  to  the  Father  new  glory, 

Good  will,  peace  and  joy  to  the  earth. 

And  still  through  the  ages  the  glad  song  is  ringing — 

The  song  by  the  angels  begun — 
Earth  echoes  to  heaven  in  harmony  singing 

Praise!  praise  to  God's  incarnate  Son! 

As  shepherds  and  sages  amazed  bow  before  Him 

And  costliest  offerings  bring, 
With  faith  long-expectant  the  Christ-child  adoring,. 

Own  Him  their  Messiah  and  King, 

So  bring  we  our  offerings  of  grateful  laudation, 

More  loving,  if  poor  and  less  wise; 
We  worship  our  King  with  the  heart's  adoration. 

A  gift  He  will  never  despise. 

Bring  evergreen  branches,  let  garlands  of  holly 

Our  altars  and  hearthstones  entwine. 
Fit  emblem  of  joy,  never-dying  and  holy, 

Of  love  ever-lasting  divine! 

NO  ROOM  FOR  JESUS. 

O  plodding  life!  crowded  so  full 

Of  earthly  toil  and  care, 
The  body's  daily  need  receives 
The  first  and  last  concern,  and  leaves 

No  room  for  Jesus  there. 


O  busy  brain!  by  night  and  day 

Working  with  patience  rare, 
Problems  of  worldly  loss  or  gain, 
Thinking,  till  thought  becomes  a  pain — 

No  room  for  Jesus  there. 

O  throbbing  heart!  so  quick  to  feel 

In  human  woes  a  share! 
Yet  earthly  loves  thy  pulses  thrall, 
And  sordid  treasures  claim  thee  all — 

No  room  for  Jesus  there. 

O  selfish  soul!  thus  to  debase 

The  being  God  doth  spare; 
Blood-bought,  thou  art  no  more  thine  own, 
Heart,  brain,  life,  all  are  His  alone — 

Make  room  for  Jesus  there. 

Lest  soon  the  bitter  day  will  come 

When  vain  will  be  thy  prayer 
To  find  in  Jesus'  heart  a  place — 
Forever  closed  the  door  of  grace — 

No  room  for  triflers  there. 


"COME  UNTO  ME." 

Matt,  xi :  28. 

"All   we   like   sheep   have   gone   astray,"    far  from   the 

sheltering  fold 
We  wander  wearily  and  lone  mid  darkness,  want  and 

cold. 
But  list!   our  tender  Shepherd's  voice  falls  on  the  ear 

distressed, 
"Come  unto  Me,  ye  weary  ones,  and   I   will  give  you 

rest." 

Ho!   all  ye  fainting,  stricken  ones,  mid  sorrow's  mazes 

lost, 
Ho!    every    toiling,   tempted   one,   on  sin's   wild   billow 

tossed; 

24 


List,   ye   who   falter   by    the   way    with   guilt   and   fear 

oppressed, 
"Come  unto  Me,"  the  Saviour  says,  "and  I  will  give  you 

rest." 

Oh  sweetly  sounds  this  gracious  call  as  mid  life's  cares 

we  roam, 
Oft  heavy-laden,  spirit  worn,  with  no  abiding  home; 
Kind   Shepherd,  gladly   we  accept,  turning  from   earth 

unblest, 
We  come  to  Thee  in  weariness  and  seek  Thy  proffered 

rest. 

Oh   lead    us   to   the    shadowing   rock   where   heavenly 

breezes  blow, 
And  to  the  living  pastures  green  where  the  still  waters 

flow; 
We  know  Thy  voice,  we'll  follow  Thee,  assured  Thy  way 

is  best, 
For  Thou   hast  said,  "Come  unto  Me  and   1  will   give 

thee  rest." 

Soon  shall  these  pilgrim  days  be  o'er,  this  weary  earth 

toil  past, 
Then,  Jesus,  Shepherd,  oh  receive  our  trembling  souls 

at  last; 
And  let  us  hear  Thy  welcome  voice  mid  harpings  of  the 

blest, 
Still  sweetly  saying,  "Come  to  Me  and  find  eternal  rest." 


"YE  WILL  NOT  COME." 

"Ye  will  not  come  to  Mo  that  ye  might  have  life." — 
John  v  :  40. 

O  weary  soul!   long  bowed  beneath  the  load 
Of  conscious  sin,  and  longing  to  be  free; 

Yet  turning  coldly  from  the  only  road 

To  Him  who  calls  so  gently,  "Come  to  Me." 


Poor,  feeding  on  the  husks  or  earthly  care, 
A  wandering  prodigal,  afar  from  home, 

Why  will  you  starve,  when  there  is  bread  to  spare, 
Waiting  for  you,  if  you  will  only  come? 

Blind,  groping  in  the  dark  of  doubt  and  fear 

For  some  brave  arm  to  be  your  strength  and  guide, 

While  One,  the  mightiest,  stands  so  very  near, 
With  outstretched  hands  to  draw  you  to  His  side, 

Condemned,  yea,  dead  in  trespasses  and  sin; 

Pierced,  bleeding  with  the  darts  of  Satan's  strife; 
Yet  wilfully  refusing  help  from  Him, 

Who  can  alone  defend  and  give  you  life. 

O  wondrous  love!  O  patience  most  divine! 

That  spares  from  wrath,  so  long,  the  scorning  one; 
O  wretched  soul!  self-doomed,  the  fault  is  thine; 

For  they  alone  are  lost,  who  will  not  come. 


WILT  THOU  BE  MADE  WHOLE  ?'? 

John  v:  1-9. 

"Wilt  thou  be  made  whole?" 

Oh  tender  the  tone 
That  falls  on  the  ear 

Of  the  impotent  one. 
But  so  long  has  he  waited, 

So  vainly  for  years, 
It  seems  only  mocking 

His  weakness  and  fears. 

"Wilt  thou  be  made  whole?" 

"Oh  yes,"  the  reply; 
"But  no  one  will  help  me, 

They  all  pass  me  by." 
One  glance   at  the  life 

In  those  pitying  eyes, 
He  listens,  believes, 

As  Christ  bids  him  "Arise!" 

2tt 


No  waiting  to  question, 

No  staying  for  power, 
He  trusts  and  obeys 

And  is  healed  the  same  hour. 
From  his  burden  of  sin 

And  infirmity  freed, 
He  follows  his  Saviour, 

A  new  man  indeed. 

"Wilt  thou  be  made  whole?" 

The  same  voice  to-day 
Is  tenderly  asking, 

Who,  who  will   say   "Nay." 
So  weary  of  waiting, 

So  longing  for  rest, 
The  Healer  beside  thee 

Says,  "Rise  and  be  blest." 

"Wilt  thou  be  made  whole?" 

He  asketh  thee  still, 
With  Him   is  the   power, 

Thine  only  to  will. 
Delay  not  to  question, 

Believe  and  obey, 
And  go  forth  in  Christ  Jesus 

A  new  creature  to-day. 


THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE. 

'Jesug  said  unto  them,  I  am  the  bread  of  life  ;  he  that  cometh 
to  Me  shall  never  hunger." — John  vi  :  35. 

Sweet  food!  from  Christ  the  living  Head, 

Our  soul-life  to  restore; 

That  we  may  die  no  more. 
"Lord,  evermore  give  us  this  bread." 

"Shall  never  hunger,"  Jesus  said; 

Our  famished  souls  would  eat 

The  true  eternal  meat; 
"Lord,  evermore  give  us  this  bread." 

27 


On  earthly  husks  we  long  have  fed, 
Unsatisfied,  in  want, 
Our  fainting  spirits  pant 

For  heavenly,  everlasting  bread. 

Our  souls  in  sin  and  care  are  dead; 
Dear  Lord,  in  love  impart 
This  Christ-life  to  our  heart, 

And  evermore  give  us  this  bread. 


.  "COME  REST  AWHILE." 

Mark  vi :  31. 

"Come  rest  awhile,"  how  sweet  the  thought- 
The  Master  knows  our  weariness, 

Since  He  His  own  disciples  brought 
Out  from  the  city's  din  and  press, 

To  desert  place,  some  quiet  nest, 

Where  He  and  they  awhile  might  rest. 

Day  after  day  the  patient  feet, 

The  ready  hand,  and  glowing  tongue 

Had  ministered  by  lane  and  street 
To  eager  crowds,  and  o'er  them  flung 

"The  banner  of  His  love"  so  blest; 

But  now  humanity  must  rest. 

"Apart"  from  man  and  all  his  need, 
Close  to  the  Father's  heart  of  love; 

Hungry  and  thirsty  there  to  feed 
On  hidden  manna  from  above. 

In  soul  communion  find  fresh  life 

And  gain  new  courage  for  the  strife. 

"So  tired,"  dear  Lord,  with  lesser  task 
Indeed,  yet  weary  oft  and  faint 

With  daily  toil,  our  spirits  ask 

Repose,  and  to  Thy  sweet  constraint 

Yield  hand  and  brain,  so  long  oppressed, 

And  gladly  take  the  proffered  rest. 


"Come  ye  yourselves"  to  all,  He  saith, 
Ye  who  like  Him  give  strength  and  nerve 

In  battle  with  earth's  sin  and  death, 
God  and  your  fellow  man  to  serve; 

Now  let  this  tender  call  beguile, 

And  with  your  Master  rest  awhile. 

"Apart"  from  man,  but  not  from  Thee, 
Our  Strength  and  Life  with  us  abide 

Where'er  we  go  by  restless  sea, 
Or  by  the  shadowy  mountain  side; 

Without  Thee,  vain  would  be  our  quest, 

In  Thee  alone  we  find  our  rest. 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  CHRIST  BLESSING 

LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

Faultless  beauty,  heavenly  grace, 
Beam  from  our  Redeemer's  face; 
Matchless  sweetness,  love  divine, 
Sorrow  shading  every  line. 

Strange,  unfathomed  mystery! 
Love  incarnate  here  wre  see; 
God-like  pity,  human  woe, 
Blending  Heaven  with  earth  below. 

Yearning  mothers  round  Him  press, 
Fraying  "Lord,  our  children  bless"; 
Cold  disciples  sternly  say, 
"Take  the  little  ones  away." 

Jesus  then  speaks  tenderly, 
"Suffer  them  to  come  to  Me"; 
We  can  almost  hear  His  tone, 
"Such  as  these  I  fondly  own." 

Now  they  gladly  seek  His  care, 
Tiny  hands  are  clasped  in  prayer; 
One,  sweet  childish  Faith,  behold 
Christ  with  His  own  robe  enfold. 

29 


Saviour,  may  this  tender  scene 
Rend  the  veil  of  doubt  between 
Thee  and  us,  that,  trusting,  we 
May  our  children  bring  to  Thee. 

If  Thy  pictured  loveliness 
With  such  power  our  hearts  impress, 
Hope  to  rapture  shall  give  place 
When  we  see  Thee  face  to  face. 


IN  THE  STORM. 

Matt,  xiv:  24,  25. 

Toiling  in  the  midnight  storm, 
Tossed  on  sorrow's  surging  sea, 

Weary,  terrified,  forlorn, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

Drifting  on  the  soundless  deep, 
Wave  on  wave  rolls  over  me, 

Shadows  coldly  round  me  creep; 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

Clustering  griefs  becloud  my  way, 
Earthly  joys  and  comforts  flee; 

Oh,  to  be  my  light,  my  stay, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

Surely,  Master,  Thou  dost  care 
Lest  I  perish  helplessly! 

Surely  Thou  wilt  hear  my  prayer, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

Come  and  take  the  vacant  helm, 
Guide  me  o'er  life's  troubled  sea; 

Ere  the  tide  my  soul  o'erwhelm, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

I  shall  feel  Thee  strong  to  save, 
When  Thy  spirit-form  I  see 

Walking  on  the  yielding  wave, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

30 


Let  me  hear  Thy  cheering  voire, 
E'en  though  it  in  chiding  be; 

Bid  my  fearful  heart  rejoice, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

Thou  canst  make  the  tempest  cease; 

At  Thy  word  the  shadows  flee; 
Thou  alone  canst  give  me  peace; 

Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 

E'en  upon  the  billow's  crest 
Sweetly  tranquil  1  can  be 

If  near  Thy  dear  heart  I  rest, 
Jesus,  Saviour,  come  to  me. 


"WE  HAVE  TOILED  ALL  NIGHT  AND 
HAVE  TAKEN  NOTHING." 

Luke  v  :  5. 

Master,  all  night  by  dangers  thick  beset 

We've  toiled  in  vain; 

Yet  once  again 
At  Thy  command,  we  will  let  down  the  net. 

Lo,  what  a  draught  rewards  their  feeble  faith! 

Their  nets  are  filled, 

All   doubting  stilled, 
When  they  obey  the  word  the  Master  saith. 

Weary  disciple!   fainting  with  the  pain 

Of  fruitless  toil 

In  barren  soil, 
To  thee  the  Master  saith,  "Launch  out  again," 

Yield  not  to  weariness  nor  weakly  say 

Hopeless  the  task, 

Nor  idly  ask 
Ignoble  rest,  but  trustfully  obey. 

31 


Where  deepest  seems  the  sea  of  doubt  and  fear, 

Darkest  the  night 

Of  sin's  sad  blight, 
There  cast  thy  net  believing,  Christ  is  near. 

Dread  not  the  danger  nor  the  darkness  heed, 

Bravely  toil  on 

Till  rest  is  won, 
And  God's  own  might  will  crown  the  faithful  deed. 

All  night?    Ah!  toiler,  but  the  morn  is  near; 

Lo,  the  Day-star 

Beaming  afar 
With  hope  and  joy  thy  fainting  soul  to  cheer. 

A  little  longer  toil,  perchance  success, 

Abundant,  sure, 

Long  to  endure, 
On  thy  next  earnest  effort  waits  to  bless. 

Master!  with  Thee  the  sternest  toil  is  rest, 

And  truly  bright 

The  darkest  night 
By  Thine  inspiring  Presence  sweetly  blest. 

Only  give  us  to  know  Thy  will,  dear  Lord, 

And  gladly  we 

Will  work  for  Thee 
By  night  or  day,  Thy  love  our  sole  reward. 

"THE  NIGHT  COMETH." 

John  ix  :  4. 

The  patient  sun  has  run  his  daily  race, 

And  lingers  with  a  fitful  flush  of  light; 
While  o'er  the  purple  hills  with  stately  pace 
Cometh   the  night. 

Darkly  the  shadows  fall  on  busy  hand 

And  toiling  brain — to  ease  the  straining  sight. 
No  man  can  longer  work,  for  o'er  the  land 
Cometh  the  night. 


I  lay  my  task  aside  with  vain  regret 

That  more  and  better  is  not  done — day's  flight 
Is  all  too  rapid,  too  soon  sun's  set, 
Too  fast  comes  night. 

I  fold  my  hands  and  think  will  thus  at  last 

Death's  darkness  come  and  blind  my  mortal  sight 
Ere  half  my  work  is  done — life's  day  be  past, 
And  come  the  night? 

Ah,  rouse  thee,  sluggish  soul,  the  moment's  glide; 

While  thou  art  dreaming  swiftly  speeds  the  light. 
No  man  can  work  when  with  resistless  tide 
Cometh  the  night. 

Work,  Christian,  work  while  it  is  called  to-day; 

While  strength  and  hope  are  thine,  the  heavens  bright. 
Stay  not  thy  hand  lest  while  you  yet  delay 
Cometh  the  night. 

An  earnest  task  is  thine — to  save  the  lost, 
To  win  the  erring  to  the  path  of  right. 
The  shadows  lengthen,  see,  thy  way  acros't 
Cometh   the  night. 

The  night!  to  faithful  toiler,  welcome  rest! 

To  careless  souls,  regretful  toil,  Faith's  fight 
Well  fought,  ah,  peacefully  and  blest 
Cometh  the  night. 


NO  HOPE. 
''Without  God,  and  without  hope  in  the  world." — Eph.  ii  :  12. 
Behold  in  yon  chamber,  so  shadowed  and  still, 
Where  faces  and  tones  give  an  ominous  thrill, 
A  sufferer  lies  tossing,  with  fluttering  breath, 
In  his  young  hopeful  manhood  contending  with  death. 

Afar  from  his  home  he  had  sought  for  a  time 
To  baffle  disease  in  a  sunnier  clime; 
But  ah!  the  vain  hope  from  his  bosom  is  gone, 
The  Dark  Angel  meets  him,  he  wrestles  alone. 

33 


The  stranger  friends  near  wipe  the  dew  from  his  brow, 
And  ask  for  his  mother's  sake,  "Must  he  die  now?" 
"Oh,  is  there  no  hope?"     In  a  sad  undertone 
The  answer  is  heard,  "No  hope  for  him,  none." 

Look  out  on  the  ocean  where  helpless,  forlorn, 
A  ship  and  its  crew  toils  mid  darkness  and  storm; 
Dismantled  it  drifts — hark!  a  crashing,  a  shock! 
"Xo  hope!"  is  the  cry,  'tis  a  wreck  on  the  rock! 

"No  hope" — 'tis  the  clank  of  the  prisoner's  chain! 
The  knell  of  the  doomed  on  the  scaffold  of  pain! 
The  cry  of  despair  as  sinking,  alone, 
The  drowning  man  ceases  to  struggle,  is  gone. 

Oh  words  of  all  others  most  sad  to  be  said! 
Oh  sound  most  heart-crushing,  most  dismal  and  dread! 
Give  the  soul  but  a  glimmer,  a  promising  ray, 
And  nobly  'twill  battle  'gainst  death  and  decay. 

But  ah!  there  is  many  a  one  o'er  whose  head 
This  sentence  hangs  darkly,  with  meaning  more  dread, 
Who  dares,  though  the  banner  of  love  is  unfurled, 
To  live  "without  God — without  hope  in  the  world." 

Oh  blind  ones  awake!  ere  too  late  to  be  healed; 

Oh  dead  ones  come  forth!  lest  your  sad  doom  be  sealed 

While  yet  there  is  time  to  the  Saviour  repair, 

And  find  hope  and  pardon  awaiting  you  there. 


"HTM  THAT  OVERCOMETH." 

Rev.  II  and  III  chapters. 

Do  thorns  beset  thy  path,  does  darkness  cloud  thy  way, 
And  sore  temptation  fill  thy  spirit  with  dismay? 
Oh  fainting  child  of  earth!  list  the  sweet  promise  given, 
For   "Him   that   overcometh"   waits  a  glorious   rest   in 
Heaven! 

84 


la  thy  light  cross  a  burden?     Did  not  thy  Saviour  wear 
For  thee  a  crown  of  thorns,  a  heavier  burden  bear? 
Canst  thou  not  meekly  walk  where  His  dear  feet  have 

trod, 
Since   "Him   that   overcometh"   shares  the  Paradise   of 

God? 

Is  life  a  weariness,  and  earth  a  desert  waste? 
Does  e'en  the  cup  of  Joy  prove  bitter  to  thy  taste? 
Is  thy  soul  faint  with  longing  for  true,  eternal  meat? 
List!    "Him  that  overcometh"  shall  the  hidden  manna 
eat. 

"I'll  give  him  a  new  name  engraved  on  a  white  stone; 
Power  to  rule  the  nations,  a  place  upon  My  throne; 
Beside  the  crystal  river,  amid  celestial  light, 
The  soul  that  overcometh  sin  shall  walk  with  Me  In 
white." 

Thus  the  Redeemer  speaks,  and  o'er  the  darkling  tide 
Sweet  angel  echoes  come  from  dear  ones  glorified. 
Yea,  "Him  that  overcometh,"  this  stern  life-battle  o'er, 
In  the  temple  of  my  God  shall  stand  a  pillar  evermore. 

Be  watchful  then  and  nerve  thy  spirit  for  the  fight, 
To  bravely  do  or  bear  as  God  shall  give  thee  might; 
The  conflict  soon  will  cease,  and  the  reward  is  sure 
To  them  that  overcome  this  world  and  to  the  end  endure. 


"PROVE  ME." 

Malachi  iii :  10. 

"Bring  the  tithes  into  the  storehouse, 
Let  there  be  a  bounteous  store; 

Then  I'll  pour  you  out  a  blessing 
Till  ye  have  no  room  for  more. 

Prove  Me  now,  ye  doubting  children, 
Let  your  faith  attest  My  word; 

Fill  your  measure  of  the  contract, 
Leave  the  balance  to  your  Lord. 

35 


Stand  no  longer  idly  waiting; 

Prayer  unproved  hath  little  power; 
Vain  your  longing,  without  effort 

To  advance  the  promised  hour. 

Bring  your  offerings  to  the  altar, 
Tithes  of  money,  work  and  prayer; 

Yea,  with  earnest  consecration 
Give  yourselves  to  service  there. 

Then  will  I,  the  Lord  Jehovah, 
Surely  make  My  promise  good; 

Open  wide  the  Heavenly  windows, 
Pour  you  out  a  gracious  flood." 

Lord,  how  can  we  ever  douht  Thee 
With  such  wondrous  promises? 

Help  us  now  by  faith  and  service 
Prove  Thy  readiness  to  bless. 


"INASMUCH." 

Matt,  xxv  :  40. 

Oh  joy!  if  I  at  last  may  stand 

Before  the  King 
With  those  at  His  right  hand, 

And  my  poor  trophies  bring 
With  trembling  hope!     Oh,  then  to  hear 
The  blessed  "Inasmuch"  fall  on  my  ear, 

The  welcoming  "Ye  blessed,  come, 

Inherit  now  your  Heavenly  home; 
Not  all  in  vain  your  lowly  toil,  your  loving  ministry, 
Ye  did  it  to  the  least  of  these,  ye  did  it  unto  Me." 

Dear  Lord,  too  oft  this  craving  heart 

Aches  with  the  will 
Some  greater  deed  to  do,  some  loftier  part 

In  life  to  fill. 
It  seems  so  little  just  to  give 
The  cup  of  water  to  revive 


Some  thirsty  soul — a  little  child  to  lead 

O'er  the  rough  path — to  speak  to  one  in  need 

The  word  of  comfort,  when  I  would 

So  gladly  give  this  warm  life-blood 
My  love  to  show,  my  service  vow  to  seal 
To  Thee  who  didst  Thy  love  to  me  so  wondrously  reveal. 

But  oh!  in  each  of  these  I  serve  to  see 

Thy  patient  face, 
My  loving  Lord!     Thou  Christ  of  Calvary, 

Thy  need  to  trace! 
Can  I  desire  more?     A  higher  service  seek? 
Or  more  reward,  to  hear  Thy  dear  voice  speak 

The  "Inasmuch"  to  me,  my  little  deed 

To  crown  and  glorify  with  such  a  meed 
Of  praise?    Enough,  my  soul,  the  lowliest  ministry 
Is  great,  thus  sweetly  blessed  "Ye  did  it  unto  Me." 


"AND  IT  WAS  NIGHT/' 

John  xiii :  30. 

An  "upper  room,"  at  eve,  a  circle  sad, 

Met  at  a  mournful,  parting  feast 
With  Him  whose  voice  had  ever  made  them  glad, 

Whose  words  their  sorrow  now  increased. 
A  traitor's  hand  is  with  them  on  the  board! 
A  traitor's  heart,  with  dark  intentions  stored, 
Rests  near  to  His  whose  love  he  cannot  doubt! 
The  sop  received,  Judas  went  quickly  out, 
"And  it  was  night." 

And  then  night,  black  as  Egypt's  fearful  gloom, 

Without  one  hope-inspiring  ray, 
Fell  on  his  soul,  who  from  that  sacred  room, 

Went  forth  his  Master  to  betray. 
Possessed  of  Satan — slave  of  sordid  gain — 
He  sold  his  God,  nor  could  the  price  retain. 
One  traitorous  kiss,  one  glance  at  Jesus'  face, 
Remorse  awoke — he  went  "to  his  own  place" 
Where  all  is  night! 

37 


Oh,  hour  of  darkness!  night  of  sorrow  drear! 

To  those  by  this  dark  deed  bereft 
Of  Him  whose  presence  had  become  so  dear, 

Whom  absent,  hope  nor  joy  were  left. 
And  He,  the  world's  Redeemer!  who  can  tell 
The  heavy  cloud  which  on  His  spirit  fell, 
As,  to  His  foes  betrayed  by  trusted  friend, 
He  meekly  hastens  to  the  tragic  end — 
To  Him  'twas  night. 

O  Jesus!  basely  sold  and  crucified 
By  man,  who  by  Thy  death  doth  live, 

Canst  Thou,  now  on  Thy  throne  all-glorified, 
The  guilty  race  still  spare,  forgive? 

Oh,  wondrous  love!  that  through  a  night  of  woe 

Eternal  morning  brings  to  cruel  foe. 

And  from  the  shameful  cross  with  bleeding  hand 

Lifts  up  the  curtain  of  that  blissful  land 

Where  there's  no  night. 


THE  PRAYER  ON  OLIVET. 

Evening  had  deepened  into  night;  darkness 

And  stillness  reigned  o'er  fair  Judea's  land. 

The  busy  hum  of  active  life  was  o'er; 

For  man  and  beast,  weary  with  the  day-toil, 

Were  hushed  in  deep  repose.     Wrapped  in  a  robe 

Of  shadow  calmly  stood  Jerusalem; 

Her  towers  and  domes,  no  longer  gilded  by 

The  setting  sun,  rose  stern  and  dark  and  tall, 

Like  the  helmed  visage  of  the  Roman  guard, 

Who  pacing  to  and  fro,  kept  faithful  watch 

Before  her  ponderous  gates. 

In  silence  now 
Behold  a  band  of  lowly  ones  come  forth 
And  wend  their  way,  with  measured  steps  and  slow, 
Out  from  the  dusty  streets  to  Olive's  mount. 
The  soldier  at  the  gate  paused  as  they  passed 
To  cast  a  searching  look  upon  the  train, 

38 


Then  mingled  scorn  and  pity  curled  his  lip, 
As  he  beheld  the  bated  Nazarene. 

They  glided  on — their  hearts  oppressed  with  grief 

And  a  vague  dread  of  evil  yet  unknown. 

The  declaration  of  their  cherished  Lord 

To  His  disciples  at  the  mournful  feast — 

That  He  should  be  betrayed  by  one  of  them — 

Weighed  on  their  startled  spirits  with  a  load 

Of  solemn  sadness.     Could  they  be  so  base, 

So  traitorous  to  one  they  loved  so  well? 

Impossible!  thought  fondly  each  and  all. 

"Though  all  forsake  and  earth's  great  powers  stand 

Combined  to  overcome,  yet  will  not  I," 

Said  the  impetuous  Peter.     Alas! 

Poor  human  strength — how  confident  in  self, 

How  weakly  falling  in  the  first  temptation! 

Now 
Mid  the  solitude  of  clustering  groves, 
The  midnight  air  is  stirred  by  Jesus'  voice 
Whose  tender  accents  breathing  peace  and  love 
Refresh  and  calm  the  sorrow-weary  band. 
Lifting  His  eyes  to  heaven  He  prays  for  them. 
And  what  a  prayer!     O!  ye  whose  hearts  refuse 
To  melt  with  penitence  and  grateful  love 
At  the  repeated  story  of  the  Cross, 
Draw  near  and  view  the  wondrous  scene  and  hear 
A  wondrous  Saviour's  parting  prayer!     Behold 
The  Son  of  God!     Heir  of  creation's  wealth! 
Surrounded  by  a  few  of  earth's  redeemed, 
In  a  lone  spot  at  night  praying  for  them! 
The  gentle  stars  light  up  His  lifted  brow, 
Revealing  there  an  agony  of  soul 
Unspoken  yet,  reserved  for  that  strange  hour 
Of  spirit-strife  in  sad  Gethsemane; 
While  the  bewildered  group,  awed  by  the  mystery, 
In  attitudes  of  rapt  devotion  stand. 
Tones  of  JEolian  sweetness  breathing  words 
More  beautiful  and  tender  than  e'er  fell 
On  mortal  ear  before  that  hour  or  since, 
With  Kedron's  murmurs  mingle  and  ascend 

39 


In  melting  cadence  to  the  Father's  throne. 
Methinks  the  angelic  host  of  Heaven  bent 
From  their  bright  home  to  listen  and  repeat 
Each  meek  petition — while  their  golden  harps 
Were  hushed  that  the  pure  echo  of  His  voice 
Pleading  for  sinful  man,  might  fill  the  arch 
Celestial  with  a  melody  divine. 

Oh!  what  unfathomed  love!  Thus  in  an  hour 
O'ershadowed  by  a  cloud  of  woe  untold, 
The  world's  Redeemer,  self-forgetful,  seeks 
His  Father's  blessing  on  His  chosen  ones. 
That  prayer  is  o'er — but  through  the  aisles  of  Time, 
Amid  the  tumult  of  Life's  rapid  tide, 
Its  echoes  still  in  holy  wavelets  come, 
And  man,  sin-burdened,  joys  to  hear  the  sound, 
And,  comforted,  adds  gratefully  his  own 
"Amen!" 


"ECCE  HOMO." 

John  xix  :  5. 

Gabbatha — in  the  judgment  hall 
Of  Roman  might — a  coward  judge — a  throng 

Of  heartless  madmen — mid  them  all, 
In  patient  sufferance  of  untold  wrong, 
Serene,  resigned,  with  conscious  power  strong, 
Behold  the  man! 

The  Christ!  by  ancient  seers  foretold — 

A  man  with  whom  no  mortal  can  compare — 

The  Jews'  Messiah,  sought  of  old, 
He  comes,  the  sins  of  multitudes  to  bear, 
And  in  His  people's  woe  and  weakness  share; 
Behold  the  man! 

"He  came  unto  His  own,"  but  lo! 

"His  own  received  Him  not";  despised  He  stands 

The  victim  of  their  wrath;  the  woe 

Of  woes  piercing  His  soul;  life  in  His  hands 
Rejected;  scorned  by  heartless,  thankless  bands: 
Behold  the  man! 


40 


They  brought  Him  forth,  thorn-crowned,  in  pain; 

Attired  in  robes  of  mock  regality; 
The  sign  of  Heavenly  kingship  plain 

On  His  pale  brow  enstamped — the  majesty 

Of  God  blending  with  human  agony: 
Behold  the  man! 

They  brought  Him  forth,  scourged,  bleeding,  faint, 
Bowed  'neath  the  burden  of  a  whole  world's  sin; 

Bearing  the  loafi  without  a  selfish  plaint, 
That  dying  souls  may  life  immortal  win, 
And  through  the  gates  of  glory  enter  in. 
Behold  the  man! 

And  yet  all  power  was  His — a  word 

From  those  closed  lips  and  angel  hosts  would  come 
Swift  to  defend  their  injured  Lord, 

And  hurl  His  fierce  opposers  to  their  doom — 

But  silent,  suffering  in  sinners'  room, 
Behold  the  man! 

Ah!   Pilate,  did  a  gleam  of  truth 

Flash  on  your  secret  soul  in  that  dark  day? 

Else  why  the  faltering  voice  forsooth, 
The  troubled  brow,  as  you  so  weakly  say, 
MI  find  no  fault  in  Him,  take  Him  away!" 
Behold  the  man! 

And  ye  who  in  your  hearts  of  stone 

Cry  "Crucify  Him!"  "Crucify  Him!"  still- 
Bleeding  for  your  sins  to  atone, 

Dying  to  save  you  from  unmeasured  ill 
A  sinless  sacrifice  on  Calvary's  hill — 
Behold  the  man! 

The  day  will  dawn — it  hastens  now — 
When  He  before  the  world  shall  reappear; 

Not  'neath  the  cross  again  to  bow, 
But  as  a  Conqueror  a  crown  to  wear! 
Then  shall  ye  in  dismay  and  abject  fear 
Behold  the  man! 

41 


O  Christ!  all  human,  all  divine! 
Pattern  of  patience  and  humility! 

Inspire  my  soul  with  grace  like  Thine, 
That  I  may  bear  life's  trials  patiently, 
And  in  that  day  of  terror  tranquilly 
Behold  the  man! 


GOD'S  CHRIST. 

Behold  Him  now,  a  captive  bound  and  led 

By  ruffian  guards,  fainting  and  almost  dead 

With  spirit-conflict;   hurried  from  the  place 

Where  He  had  sought  in  grief  His  Father's  face, 

From  angel  ministry,  to  cruel  doom 

Of  hate-envenomed  tongues  in  priestly  room. 

Behold  Him  now,  the  Son  of  Man,  alone, 

Despised,  rejected  by  His  very  own, 

Scoffed  at,  and  spit  upon,  struck  by  rough  hands, 

A  silent  victim,  patiently  He  stands 

And  bears  it  all;  His  only  vain  defence 

A  lamb-like  muteness  and  calm  innocence. 

Oh  God!  what  love  but  Thine,  so  infinite, 
Could  vengeance  e'er  restrain  at  such  a  sight! 
Oh  mystery  of  grace!  unsolved  device! 
To  save  a  rebel  race,  at  such  a  price! 

"Art  thou  the  Christ,  the  ever  Blessed  Son?" 
Asked  priestly  malice  of  the  silent  one. 
Placed  under  oath,  to  Jewish  custom  true, 
At  length  the  parted  lips  their  office  do: 
The  brow  uplifts,  a  majesty  divine 
Speaks  from  that  visage  marred,  in  every  line. 
And  oh  that  voice!  how  must  its  kingly  tone 
Have  silenced  clamor,  sounding  out  alone 
Above  all  wrath,  filling  each  heart  with  dread! 
"The  Christ?  yea,  false  one,  thou  hast  said; 
Amid  the  clouds  hereafter  thou  shalt  see 
The  Son  of  Man  and  know  that  I  am  He. 
Sitting  at  God's  right  hand,  mine  then  the  power, 

42 


And  thine  before  thy  righteous  Judge  to  cower 

In  abject  fear,  remembering  how  this  day 

Thy  murderous  hands  were  lifted  up  to  slay 

Thine  own  Messiah-King.     Ah,  do  thy  worst, 

This  is  thy  day  of  might,  do  all  thou  durst, 

Thou  canst  but  crush  this  quivering  human  frame, 

And  free  the  God  within  it.     And  this  same 

Brief  show  of  power  is  given  thee  to  fulfill 

My  Father's  and  My  Own  eternal  will. 

Thou  dost  not  take  My  life — this  mortal  crown — 

Freely  for  thee  and  thine,  I  lay  it  down." 

Oh,  patience  strange!  that  could  so  gently  deal 
With  puny  foe,  and  not  the  strength  reveal 
Of  that  right  arm,  which  lifted  up  could  call 
Legions  of  angels  at  His  feet  to  fall. 

Our  human  hearts  with  indignation  fill 

At  the  bare  thought  of  what  abuse  and  ill 

Were  heaped  on  that  dear  head!     With  passion  stron: 

We  cry,  O  gracious  Lord!  how  long!   how  long! 

Ere  that  hereafter  come  when  mid  the  clouds 

Thy  kingly  face  shall  reappear;  while  crowds 

Of  seraphim  and  cherubim  adore 

The  Lamb,  once  slain,  now  living  evermore! 

Oh,  haste  the  day  when  every  eye  shall  see, 

And  every  tongue  confess  Thy  majesty; 

When  all  Thy  foes  shall  hide  their  heads  in  shame, 

And  Heaven  and  earth  shall  magnify  Thy  name; 

No  more  despised,  rejected,  disallowed, 

But  owned,  adored  by  all,  the  Christ  of  God! 


"ELOI!  ELOI!  LAMA  SABACTHAXI  !" 

Mark  xv  :  34. 

O  weight  of  woe!     O  crowning  anguish! 

In  this  last  bitter  cry  we  trace: 
The  suffering  Son  allowed  to  languish 

Without  the  comfort  of  His  Father's  face! 

•13 


To  die  by  earthly  friends  forsaken, 

Were  bitterness  enough  to  bear; 
But  God  has  e'en  His  presence  taken — 

Surely  He  does  not  His  Beloved  spare! 

Sinless,  yet  standing  for  the  sinner, 

Our  Sacrifice  must  fully  know 
His  direst  doom  to  be  the  winner 

For  us  of  full  salvation  from  all  woe. 

So  all  alone,  behold  Him  suffer 

The  keenest  sting  of  wrathful  rod; 
The  guiltiest  wretch  could  know  no  rougher 

Fate  than  Thine,  O  patient  Lamb  of  God! 

He  dies  alone,  that  we  such  sorrow 

May  never  taste,  whate'er  betide; 
Friends  may  forsake,  but  death  may  borrow 

The  sweetest  joy  with  Jesus  at  our  side. 

Thus  dies,  that  now  "I'll  ne'er  forsake  thee" 

Shall  bring  us  comfort  in  our  woe; 
"In  His  own  arms  thy  God  shall  take  thee 

When  through  the  dreary  shadow  thou  shalt  go.' 

O  Love  immeasurable!    eternal! 

Can  we  thy  depth  e'er  understand? 
Not  till  amid  the  light  supernal 
.   We  wholly  saved  shall  clasp  Thy  pierced  hand! 


OUR  EASTER  CALL. 

"Written  for  an  Easter  Meeting  of  a  Woman's  Missionary 

Society. 

Another  Easter-tide  draws  near — 

Amid  fair  lilies'  bloom 

And  violets'  perfume, 
Again  the  wondrous  story  we  shall  hear 
Of  the  first  Easter  morning  bright 

44 


That  broke  the  shadow  of  earth's  darkest  night; 

And  with  the  Marys  go 

Back  to  the  sepulchre  as  so 
They  early  went  in  Sorrow's  true  accord, 
With  spices  to  anoint  their  buried  Lord. 

And  we  shall  share  their  glad  surprise, 

As  through  their  blinding  tears 

The  empty  tomb  appears! 
The  angel  to  their  questioning  replies 
"He  is  not  here,  but  risen,  as  He  said — 

Seek  not  the  living  Christ  among  the  dead." 

And  then  how  quickly  grief  and  fear  are  gone, 
As  "Mary!"  greets  them  in  the  voice  well  known. 

Oh  Friendship,  fathomless,  divine! 

The  world  is  not  too  old, 

Nor  woman's  heart  grown  cold, 
Nor  distance  from  that  rock-hewn  shrine — 
Where  Love's  devotion  met  its  meed — so  great, 

That  the  fond  memory  still 

Cannot  with  rapture  thrill 
His  own,  who  for  His  new  arising  wait 

But,  dear  Rabboni,  speak  as  well 

To  all  Thy  Marys  now; 

Let  them  as  surely  know 
Thy  quickening  voice,  and  in  Thy  words  "Go  tell," 
Hear  their  own  high  commission,  and  as  swift 

Run  to  obey;  untiring  bear 

The  precious  message  everywhere — 
"Christ  lives!     Eternal  life  is  sure!"  and  lift 
The  veil  from  souls  on  sin's  dark  sea  adrift. 

O  woman!  honored,  glory-crowned, 

By  fellowship  so  blest! 

Canst  thou  supinely  rest 
Beside  some  tear-wet  earthly  mound, 
Or  in  the  depths  of  care  or  selfish  ease? 

Then  weakly  sigh  and  ask 

"What  is  my  given  task? 
Can  such  as  I  the  Master  find  and  please?" 

45 


Arise!  go  forth,  thy  task  is  clear; 

Thy  privilege  is  great, 

With  Christ  to  work  and  wait. 
He  goes  before,  each  dreary  path  to  cheer. 
Earth's  needy  millions  call  for  living  bread. 

Thine  is  the  given  power, 

This,  thine  appointed  hour 
To  minister  in  thy  dear  Master's  stead. 

Then  with  the  blessed  Easter-tide 

Let  all  who  yearn  to  show 

The  heart's  warm  overflow 
To  Him  who  rose  Heaven's  gate  to  open  wide, 
"With  Him  arise  and  hasten  on  to  do 

The  bidding  of  His  will — 

Our  sacred  trust  fulfill — 
Love's  best  anointing  is  a  service  true. 


"NO  MORE  SEA." 

Rev.  xxi :  1. 

Is  it  not  beautiful,  is  it  not  grand, 

As  it  rolls  in  its  blue  infinity, 
And  tosses  its  surges  from  land  to  land? 

Why  then  is  it  written  "There  was  no  more  sea?" 

'Tis  so  pleasant  to  watch  the  crested  waves 
As  they  playfully  chase  each  other  on  shore, 

And  to  hear  the  tones  from  its  musical  caves, 
Why  should  it  be  written  "There  was  sea  no  more?" 

Would  it  not  add  to  the  beauty  of  Heaven, 

If  the  sea  poured  its  flood  'round  the  Jasper  wall? 

Its  waters  at  rest,  by  storms  never  riven, 
Would  mirror  the  glory  that  on  it  should  fall. 

Ah,  treacherous  sea!  the  angel  knew  well, 

To  many  thou  art  a  terror  and  gloom; 
The  roar  of  thy  waves  a  dreary  death  knell, 

Thy  crystalline  depths  a  dark  dismal  tomb. 

4G 


Thy  beauty  is  cold,  thy  grandeur  is  grave, 

Thy  billows  the  type  of  a  wild  unrest; 
And  parting  too  oft  the  loving  and  brave, 

Would  mar  the  sweet  peace  of  the  Home  of  the  blest. 

Thy  place  is  on  earth,  thou  endest  with  time, 
Then  roll  in  thy  might,  dash  on  full  and  free! 

'Tis  but  for  to-day,  in  yon  tranquil  clime, 
The  angel  hath  written  "There  was  no  more  sea." 

No  more  buried  hopes,  no  quenched  household  gleams, 

No  parting,  no  sorrow,  no  mystery; 
Mid  fields  ever  green  flow  clear  crystal  streams 

And  fountains  of  water,  but  "There's  no  more  sea." 


"NO  MORE  DEATH." 

Rev.  xxi  :  4. 
0  world!  so  full  of  darkened  homes, 
Of  funeral  trains  and  opening  tombs, 
Light  in  the  darkness!  the  promise  comes 
"There  shall  be  no  more  death." 

0  curse  of  sin!  there  comes  a  day 
When  earth,  freed  from  thy  tyrant  sway, 
With  joy  shall  hear  the  Conqueror  say 
"There  shall  be  no  more  death." 

The  Voice  that  spoke  to  Bethany's  twain- 
"Thy  brother  dead  shall  live  again" — 
Once  more  proclaims  o'er  land  and  main 
"There  shall  be  no  more  death." 

"Come  forth!"  the  call  omnipotent 
Is  heard;  each  long  sealed  tomb  is  rent, 
And  all  earth's  sleepers  wake  attent 
To  hear  "There's  no  more  death!" 

No  death,  no  tears,  no  deep-drawn  sighs, 
No  broken  hearts,  no  riven  ties; 
Beyond  this  shadowy  vale  there  lies 
A  land  with  "no  more  death." 

47 


IN  THE  SHADOW 


DE  PROFUNDI*. 
On  the  death  of  President  Lincoln — April  l'tth,  1S65. 

Out  of  the  depths,  O  Lord,  out  of  the  depths, 

A  smitten  nation  cries  to  Thee! 

Bowed  by  the  awful  mystery 
Of  Death — sitting  in  sackcloth  thickly  spread, 
Mourning,  uncomforted,  its  honored  dead. 

Alas!  alas!  we're  weak  to-day; 

A  Prince  has  fallen — our  country's  stay! 

Our  chosen  Chief,  loved  of  the  la~nd, 

Falls  in  his  might  by  murderous  hand! 
Oh  God!  for  such  unknown,  unfathomed  grief, 
Thou,  only  Thou,  canst  bring  us  sure  relief. 

The  nation's  heart  so  late  with  victory  glad, 
Lies  bleeding,  'neath  a  ponderous  cross; 
Crushed,  broken  by  its  mighty  loss. 
Oh  Lord,  our  Strength!  to  Thee  we  turn — for  though 
Satanic  vengeance  aimed  the  dreadful  blow, 
Thy  wisdom  did  permit  the  deed, 
In  it  Thy  sovereign  will  we  read. 
Thou  hast  afflicted,  Thou  must  heal, 
Thou  sendest  grief,  Thy  love  reveal. 
Oh  calm  our  spirits,  quench  the  wrathful  thought — 
We  would  be  still  and  trust  Thee  as  we  ought. 

Man  dies — the  highest — but  the  Eternal  lives; 

Thou,  Chief  supreme,  our  Ruler  still, 

Our  destiny  will  hold,  fulfill. 
Though  treason's  factions  'gainst  us  madly  rage, 
Thou  canst  their  wrath  restrain,  our  fears  assuage. 

The  powers  of  sin  Thy  mandate  know, 

Thus  far,  no  farther  can  they  go. 

In  Thee  oh  let  the  nation  trust; 

And  now  from  martyred  Mercy's  dust 
Rise  to  a  loftier  faith,  a  courage  strong, 
To  battle  firmly  'gainst  our  country's  wrong. 

51 


Nerve  Thou  each  heart,  guide  Thou  each  faltering  will, 

Without  Thee  chaos  will  prevail; 

With  Thee  our  cause  will  never  fail. 
God  of  the  Right!  oh  heal  our  stricken  land; 
Vengeance  is  Thine,  we  leave  it  in  Thy  hand. 

No  martyr's  blood  is  shed  in  vain, 

May  ours  wipe  out  foul  treason's  stain, 

And  our  dear  land  to  peace  restore, 

To  know  disunion  never  more. 
Grant  this,  O  Lord,  and  we  will  meekly  bow 
And  kiss  the  rod  that  smites  so  sorely  now. 


THE  NATIONAL  FUNERAL. 
"Sic  semper  tyrannis" — April,  1865. 

O  pageant  of  grandeur!     O  climax  of  fame! 
No  greater  e'er  honored  earth's  kingliest  name; 
Fit  tribute  to  royalty  truest,  the  best — 
A  Patriot  martyr  thus  goes  to  his  rest. 

A  nation  of  mourners  with  sorrow's  keen  pain, 

In  tears  watch  the  slow-moving  funeral  train 

Which  bears  from  their  midst  to  a  far  Western  tomb, 

Their  Chieftain  whose  death  wraps  a  country  in  gloom. 

From  hillside  and  valley  they  hasten  to  show 
Some  token  of  love  mid  the  drapings  of  woe; 
And  on  that  dear  casket  in  silence  to  gaze, 
With  a  kiss  or  a  tear  or  a  whisper  of  praise. 

With  flowers  the  rarest,  the  sweetest,  they  crown 
The  mortal  of  him  whom  immortal  renown 
Will  wreath  evermore — while  the  slow  tolling  bell 
And  requiems  chanted  the  tale  of  grief  tell. 

Through  reverent  crowds,  mid  the  perfume  of  flowers, 
And  strains  of  soft  music,  'neath  evergreen  bowers, 
Like  a  Hero  in  triumph  they  bear  him  along. 
Do  such  loving  honors  to  tyrants  belong? 

52 


Yet  this  was  the  man  who  thus  falsely  was  styled 
By  traitors  who  basely  his  goodness  reviled; 
Whose  words,  now  immortal,  we  fondly  recall, 
"With  malice  toward  none,  but  with  mercy  to  all." 

"Sic  semper  tyrannis?"  yes,  thus  let  it  be 
To  one  who  ruled  only  with  Love's  tyranny. 
Who  held  out  the  sceptre  of  pardon  to  foes. 
Too  ready  to  lighten  their  self-given  woes. 

'Sic  semper  tyrannis!"  'twas  Mercy's  death  knell! 
With  the  victim  of  treason  her  sway  darkly  fell. 
Now  Justice  beholding  unsheaths  her  sharp  sword, 
Henceforth  Retribution  stern  acts  shall  record. 

All  praise  to  the  Leader  whose  wise,  steady  sway 
Has  brought  us  from  darkness  to  hail  a  new  day; 
Whose  love  for  the  Right,  whose  good  will  to  mankind 
And  firm  faith  in  God  scarce  an  equal  can  find. 

But  bury  him  calmly,  no  more  vainly  weep, 
His  life  work  is  done,  let  him  peacefully  sleep. 
For  Freedom  he  died  when  her  victory  was  nigh. 
His  record's  with  God  and  the  angels  on  high. 

Side  by  side  through  the  ages  two  names  shall  go  down, 
Two  patriot  lives  equal  glory  shall  crown. 
With  WASHINGTON,  loved  as  our  country's  brave  sire, 
Stands  LINCOLN,  her  savior — souls  tried  as  by  fire! 


THANKS  AND  SUPPLICATION. 

For  President  Garfield's  Life.    July  2,  1881. 

Great  God  of  nations!   hear 
A  grateful  people's  prayer — 

Their  hymn  of  praise; 
As  low  on  bended  knee 
With  trembling  ecstasy 
Of  hope  and  joy,  to  Thee 

Our  hearts  we  raise. 

53 


When  o'ef  our  sunlit  land 
A  mad  assassin's  hand 

Spread  death's  dark  pall, 
Above  their  prostrate  chief 
Millions  are  bowed  in  grief, 
And  for  Thy  quick  relief 

United  call. 

And  not  in  vain  they  cry, 
Thou  didst  not  let  him  die, 

But  graciously 
Withheld  the  fatal  blow, 
Stayed  the  red  life-blood's  flow, 
Gave  length  of  days  below, 

So  wondrously. 

Thanks  that  Thy  watchful  eye 
And  loving  hand  was  nigh 

That  fateful  hour, 
To  guide  the  deadly  dart 
Aimed  at  a  noble  heart, 
So  not  one  vital  part 

Felt  its  dread  power. 

Thanks  for  his  courage  true, 
The  dauntless  soul  that  knew 

No  craven  fear. 
But  calmly  bore  the  ill 
With  iron  nerve  and  will, 
Sustained  and  cheerful  still, 

With  death  so  near. 

Thanks  for  the  Nation's  love, 
All  party  feuds  above, 

Now  freshly  shown. 
One  heart  from  sea  to  sea, 
One  throb  of  sympathy, 
One  thrill  of  loyalty, 

For  him — their  own. 

54 


God  bless  our  fallen  head! 
Raise  him  as  from  the  dead 

To  life  again. 
Long  may  his  gentle  sway 
All  fear  of  strife  allay; 
United  as  to-day 

Our  land  remain! 

Borne  on  the  Sabbath  air 
Let  universal  prayer 

With  praises  blend. 
Praise  for  the  mercy  sent, 
Prayer  with  faith's  deep  intent; 
God  save  our  President! 

The  Nation's  friend! 


"O  WOMAN,  GREAT  IS  THY  FAITH !" 

O  gentle  woman,  strong  and  true! 

When  stouter  hearts  let  hope  expire, 
The  Nation's  gloom  is  cheered  by  you, 

Your  faith  relights  our  flickering  fire. 

"He  will  not  die!"*   Whence  that  sure  trust? 

Is  it  not  borne  of  holy  faith? 
That  He  who  holds  the  fleeting  breath 

Hath  said,  "Faith's  prayer  shall  save  from  death. 

Thine  is*  the  central  shrine  around 

Whose  unquenched  flame  a  million  more 

Cluster  and  burn  with  hope  profound, 
And  ceaseless  supplications  pour. 

List!  and  the  gracious  answer  hear, 

The  words  the  blessed  Healer  saith; 
"O  woman!  put  away  thy  fear, 

It  shall  be  even  as  thy  faith." 


Mrs.  Garfield's  words  soon  after  the  assassination. 
55 


-WHY?" 

"O  why  am  I  made  to  suffer  this  cruel  wrong?" 
Mrs.  Garfield,  after  the  President's  death,  Sept.  19,  1881. 

Out  of  the  darkness  of  that  night  of  gloom, 
Out  of  the  stillness  of  that  shadowed  room, 
From  a  crushed  heart  is  wrung  the  questioning  cry 
That  "Why,  oh  Why?" 

Dreaded  so  long,  yet  a  surprise  at  last. 
Quenched  in  a  moment,  prayer  and  hope  are  past. 
Ah!   can  we  wonder  at  the  bitter  cry, 
The  "Why,  oh  Why?" 

The  Nation's  heart  as  well,  throbbing  with  woe, 
Pierced  with  a  stroke  few  nations  ever  know, 
In  one  deep  monotone  echoes  the  cry, 
The  questioning  "Why?" 

We  have  so  truly  prayed,  so  built  our  faith 
Upon  the  words  our  great  Physician  saith, 
"Prayer  will  avail  to  save,"  yet  death  was  nigh; 
Oh  Father,  "Why?" 

So  long  we've  stood  that  suffering  bed  beside 
Watching  with  hope  or  fear  the  wavering  tide; 
It  is  so  hard  at  last  to  have  him  die; 
Forgive  the  "Why?" 

He  seemed  to  be  so  needed — calm  and  strong, 
A  Christian  Ruler,  wise  to  right  the  wrong, 
Brave  to  endure — and  yet  so  soon  to  lie 
Martyred!     Oh  "Why?" 

O  strangest  mystery!  that  this  fair  land 
Again  should  be  despoiled  by  murderous  hand; 
Above  two  martyr-graves  should  weep  and  sigh 
And  question  "Why?" 

Thou  knowest  why — in  vain  does  puny  man 
Essay  Thy  hidden  purposes  to  scan; 
Thou  wouldst  be  less  a  God  could  human  eye 
Discern  the  "Why?" 

56 


Of  all  Thy  ways.    The  father  oft  conceals 
From  his  weak  child  the  reason  why  he  deals 
So  sternly  with  him — then  let  us  trust  and  try 
Not  to  ask  "Why?" 

Oh  could  we  but  God's  fatherhood  receive, 
His  word  "I  chasten  whom  I  love,"  believe, 
Should  we  so  murmur,  seek  so  to  descry 
The  reason  "Why?" 

Let  us  be  still — the  Hand  that  smites  will  heal; 
Will  some  day  lift  the  clouds  that  now  conceal 
His  ways,  and   in  the  Eternal  By  and  By 
We  shall  know  "Why?" 


NOT  DEAD,  BUT  RISEN. 

President  McKinley — another  Patriot  Martyr. 
Sept.  11  1901. 

Not  dead — the  noble  all-embracing  soul, 
Not  dead,  the  wise,  strong  master-mind, 
Not  dead,  the  heart,  loving,  sincere  and  kind, 

These  live  and  find  immortal  strength  their  goal. 

He  lives,  for  such  a  life  can  never  die — 
So  purposeful  in  every  word  and  deed, 
Far  reaching  in  its  power,  'twill  be  the  seed 

Of  growing  worth  and  inspiration  high. 

The  stately  form  built  on  God's  perfect  plan, 
The  thoughtful  brow,  the  ever  genial  face — 
So  winning  in  its  gentleness  and  grace — 

Were  but  the  semblance  of  the  deathless  man. 

The  visible  is  gone,  but  in  a  higher  sphere 

He  lives  a  nobler  service  to  fulfill. 

God  called,  he  calmly  yielded  his  own  will, 
And  passed  beyond  all  limitations  here. 

57 


Mourn  the  sad  passing  of  our  honored  head; 

Heap  rarest  blossoms  o'er  his  sacred  clay; 

Let  the  whole  world  its  truest  homage  pay — 
A  Christian  hero  crowned!  he  is  not  dead. 

His  presence  in  our  councils  has  not  fled; 

His  voice  in  echoes  clear  will  still  abide; 

His  wisdom,  rare,  the  Nation  still  will  guide. 
McKinley  lives!    Let  no  one  call  him  dead. 


"TWILIGHT  DELL"— GREENWOOD. 
In  Menwriam  H.  B. 

How  calm  thy  rest — great  city  of  the  dead! 

My  thoughts  grow  tender  as  I  softly  tread 

Thy  silent  aisles.     A  holy  charm  pervades 

The  stillness  of  thy  consecrated  shades; 

For  here  fond  Memory  holds  a  sacred  trust, 

Deep  buried   from  my  sight  beneath  its  kindred  dust. 

On  this  May  morn  how  bright  the  vernal  bloom, 
Which  mantles  hill  and  vale,  dispelling  gloom 
And  kindling  quiet  joy!     Pure  blossoms  spread 
In  snowy  wreaths  above  the   sleeping  dead 
Invest  thee  with  a  saintliness  as  fair 
As  the  celestial  robes  of  white  the  angels  wear. 

Here  Art  and  Nature  their  best  skill  combine 

To  beautify  Affection's  hallowed  shrine; 

But  sculptured  stone  or  rich  parterre  are  nought, 

One  lowly  spot  engages  all  my  thought. 

One  dear  secluded  vale,  ah!  can  I  tell 

How  much  of  life  to  me  lies  in  this  "Twilight  Dell?" 

Here  let  me  pause,  while  tenderly  I  bend 

O'er  the  low  mound  that  hides  a  loving  friend. 

Such  love,  so  pure,  I  ne'er  may  know  again 

While  I  a  pilgrim  on  this  earth  remain. 

But,  selfish  heart,  why  hopelessly  repine? 

Enough  for  thee  to  know  that  once  such  love  was  thine. 

58 


My  soul  her  image  holds,  yet  I  essay 

Vainly  with   words,   its   beauty  to  portray; 

Mind,  heart,  form,  feature  all  alike  so  fair, 

A  blended  loveliness,  on  earth  too  rare. 

"The  good  die  first" — ah  ne'er  a  truer  thought 

Fell  from  a  poet's  lips  with  inspiration  fraught! 

"The  good  die  first" — cast  in  a  mould  refined, 

Too  fragile  to  endure,  they  seem  by  God  designed 

To  give  to  coarser  souls  who  darkly  stray 

A  glimpse  of  Heaven  then  lead  themselves  the  way: 

By  an  embodiment  of  Heavenly  grace 

To  fit  us  to  behold  His  own  all-glorious  face. 

Such  was  her  life  whose  early  flight  from  earth 

We  deeply  mourn — a  life  of  rarest  worth, 

A  fount  of  good,  a  ministry  of  love 

Lifting  our  earth-born  souls  to  heights  above; 

A  life  of  active  faith  and  earnest  zeal, 

Eternity  alone  its  influence  can  reveal. 

Bright  is  the  record  Memory  keeps,  engraved 
On  living  tablets,  thus  securely  saved 
From  Time's  defilement  and  the  tomb's  decay. 
Though  the  dear  form  may  moulder  'neath  the  clay, 
The  hearts  that  loved  her  best  they  only  know 
How  true  and  beautiful  was  that  brief  life  below. 

But  is  she  dead?    Can  Goodness  ever  die? 

Shadow  of  Him  who  lives  eternally! 

Does  spirit-beauty  perish  with  the  breath? 

Is  Love  extinguished  at  the  touch  of  Death? 

No!  stars  may  pale,  all  finite  glory  fade, 

Germs  of  the  Life  immortal,  these  live  undecayed! 

They  are  not  lost,  the  beautiful,  the  true! 

A  mystic  veil  but  hides  them  from  our  view. 

Their  presence  still  is  with  us,  loving,  bright, 

Though  undiscerned  by  our  dull  mortal  sight. 

They  wear  this  fading  robe  of  clay  no  more, 

In  fadeless  grace,  soul-free,  they  walk  the  Eternal  shore. 


Beloved!  shall  we  grieve  that  thou  art  free? 
Free  from  the  cross  so  early  laid  on  thee? 
"Perfect  through  suffering,"  no  more  years  of  pain 
Nor  weariness  nor  care  to  thee  remain; 
Rest,  Peace,  unchanging  bliss  forever  thine! 
Death  was  to  thee  the  archway  to  a  Life  divine. 

A  life  without  the  shadow  of  a  cloud; 
A  spirit-being  with  new  powers  endowed; 
Expanding  as  its  untold  cycles  move, 
Growing  in  knowledge,  holiness  and  love. 
Mysteries  in  truth  and  grace,  unfathomed  here, 
To  thine  enraptured  vision  now  unfolded  clear. 

And  not  alone  art  thou  in  yonder  sphere; 

Kindred  and  friends,  beloved  and  cherished  here, 

Are  with  thee  glorified;  and  dearer  still 

One  whom  thy  soul  adored  through  good  or  ill. 

Courage,  my  heart!  a  few  more  years  of  strife 

Will  bring  thee  to  the  dawn  of  the  same  blessed  Life. 

Then  wherefore  be  dismayed,  why  sadly  weep, 
"When  Christ  to  thy  beloved  giveth  sleep? 
The  parting  will  be  brief,  in  patience  wait 
The  sure  reunion  at  the  Pearly  Gate. 
Oh  blissful  hope!   these  murmuring  thoughts  dispel! 
Farewell    unhallowed    grief!     farewell    dear    "Twilight 
Dell." 


SUDDEN  TRANSITION. 

"There  is  but  a  step  between   me  and  death." 

A  step!  no  more,  a  fluttering  breath, 
A  mortal  chill  parts  life  and  death. 

A  farewell  glance,  a  quick  adieu! 
Earth  fades,  Eternity's  in  view. 

One  day  in  health's  fresh  roseate  bloom, 
The  next,  pale,  waiting  for  the  tomb. 

GO 


At  morn  erect  in  manhood's  day, 
At  night,  prostrate  in  death's  decay. 

But  to  the  Christian,  oh  how  sweet! 
That  step  transports  the  weary  feet 

From  thorny  paths  and  tiresome  ways, 
To  golden  streets  and  restful  days. 

A  moment  shivering  on  the  verge, 
The  next  beyond  the  river's  surge. 

A  moment  in  the  valley's  shade, 
Then  to  the  Eternal  hills  conveyed. 

To-day  worn  with  the  world's  vain  quest, 
To-morrow,  calm,  supernal  rest. 

One  step  from  Satan's  tempting  charms, 
To  safe  repose  in  Jesus'  arms. 

Only  one  step  from  sin's  sad  load, 
To  spotless  holiness  and  God! 

0  blest  transition!  glorious  change! 
This  human  shrinking  passing  strange! 

Why  should  we  choose  the  lingering  pain, 
The  weary  waste  of  heart  and  brain, 

Why  cling  to  earth  and  mortal  fear, 
When  Life  immortal  is  so  near? 

Lord,  let  me  always  ready  be 
Quick  to  depart  and  go  to  Thee. 

Ready  to  take  the  one  step  more 

Which  parts  me  from  the  Heavenly  shore. 


'TIS  JUST  ACROSS  THE  RIVER. 

The  Land  that  holds  our  treasures, 
Where  sin  nor  death  can  mar, 

The  land  of  lasting  pleasures 
Is  not  so  very  far; 

'Tis  only  so  in  seeming, 


61 


And  in  our  human  fear, 
For  often  in  our  dreaming 

That  land  is  very  near — 
The  land  where  friends  ne'er  sever, 
'Tis  just  across  the  River. 

'Tis   but  a  moment's  journey, 

A  closing  of  the  eye — 
A  fluttering  breath,  a  turning 

From  earth  all  wearily; 
A  flight  through  regions  airy, 

Swift  as  a  flashing  beam — 
A  sail  with  boatmen  wary 

Over  a  narrow  stream. 
Bright  land  of  the  forever! 
'Tis  just  across  the  River! 

And  when  Faith's  sunlight  lingers 

Upon  the  mystic  tide, 
Clouds,  touched  by  angel  fingers, 

No  more  its  glories  hide. 
Lost  kindred,  loved  and  loving, 

So  near  us  seem  to  stand, 
That  while  mid  earth  scenes  moving, 

We  clasp  them  hand  to  hand. 
Fair  land  where  love  dies  never! 
'Tis  just  across  the  River! 

Then  wherefore  this  repining 

For  dear  ones  gone  before? 
Since  Faith  reveals  them  shining 

Safe  on  the  other  shore. 
Though  lost  to  mortal  vision, 

They're  never  far  away; 
And  soon  to  their  Elysian 

Our  weary  feet  may  stray. 
Home  of  the  soul  forever! 
'Tis  just  across  the  River! 

62 


UNDER  THE  ROD. 

"In  faithfulness  hast  Thou  afflicted  me." 

A  shadow  on  our  pathway,  cold  and  drear! 
Life's  day  seemed  wondrous  bright, 
We  dreamed  not  that  so  dark  a  night 

Of  woe  could  be  to  us  so  very  near. 

We  sported  with  the  pleasant  things  of  earth 

And  thought,  "Ah,  it  is  well 

With  us,  our  joy  we  cannot  tell." 
And  inly  sighed  that  ill  should  e'er  have  birth. 

Then  came  the  stroke — joy  turned  to  grief, 

And  light  to  darkness  grim. 

Sweet,  to  a  bitter  cup,  the  brim 
Pressed  to  our  lips.    Earth  brought  us  no  relief. 

The  firstling  of  our  flock!     "Dear  Lord,"  we  cried. 
"Take  any  other,  spare 
This  best  beloved,  so  young  and  fair!" 
In  vain — the  Spoiler  touched,  she  drooped  and  died. 

In  her  fresh  maidenhood,  when  every  day 

Added  new  grace;   when  life 

Was  joy,   and  coming  years  all  rife 
With  promise,  from  our  sight  she  passed  away. 

Our  clinging  love  was  riven;   in  dumb  despair 
We  loosed  our  tender  hold, 
Pressed  the  dear  lips  so  pale  and  cold, 

Laid  her  beneath  the  snow  and  left  her  there. 

Ah,  must  it  be!  do  we  so  need  the  rod, 
Dear  Lord?     Have  we  so  strayed 
From  Thee  and  duty?     As  we  prayed 

We  heard,  "Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God." 

"Thy  God  and  Father;   can  I  be  unkind, 

Or  needlessly  chastise 

The  child  I  love?    Am  I  not  wise 
And  pitiful,  to  mercy  most  inclined? 

63 


This  trial  is  a  blessing,  trust  Me  now — 

Though  thy  weak  sense  can  see 

Only  a  painful  mystery, 
Believe  'tis  best — hereafter  thou  shalt  know. 

Thy  treasure  is  not  lost,  'tis  safe  with  Me; 

Lifted  above  thy  reach 

Till  learned  the  lesson  I  would  teach 
Of  upward  looking,  then  restored  to  thee." 

Father,  'tis  right.     O  throbbing  heart  be  still! 

O  human  blindness!  trust 

The  hand  that  lays  thee  in  the  dust 
But  to  uplift  thee,  mingling  good  with  ill. 

Too  long  we've  lived  for  Earth,  and  worshiped  Self; 

Dear  Lord,  forgive  our  sin; 

Unbar  our  hearts  and  enter  in, 
Take  what  Thou  wilt,  only  leave  there  Thyself. 


IN  DARKNESS. 

"The  light  of  mine  eyes  is  gone  from  me." 

Written  for  a  widowed  mother  on  the  death  oj  her 
only  child. 

Alone  and  desolate  but  for  Thy  presence,  Lord; 

O  come  and  lift  me  from  this  vale  of  grief! 
Thy  hand  hath  smitten  me,  and  only  in  Thy  word, 

Thy  loving  promise  can  I  find  relief. 

No  sorrow  seems  like  mine,  so  helpless,  heavy,  deep; 

My  life,  my  joy,  my  earthly  comfort  gone! 
Gone  from  my  sight,  can  I  do  else  but  weep? 

Pity  and  pardon  me  if  it  is  wrong. 

I  know  Thy  cross  was  heavier,  and  keener  still 
The  agony  that  weighed  Thy  spirit  down, 

As  mid  the  shadows  of  Gethsemane  Thy  will 
Bowed  to  the  Father's,  meekly  bore  His  frown. 

64 


But  oh  this  mortal  weakness!   when  I  try  to  say 
"Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done,"  my  heart  grows  faint 

And  questions  wildly,  "Was  there  not  some  other  way 
I  could  be  chastened  and  esteemed  a  saint?" 

Jesus,  forsake  me  not,  remember  Thine  own  woe, 
And  then  forgive  Thy  sinning,  sorrowing  child; 

Weakly  I  lean  on  Thee,  Thy  grace  and  strength  bestow, 
Calm  with  Thy  peace  grief's  billows  dark  and  wild. 

I  would  be  patient,  would  in  trustful  quiet  rest 

Upon  Thy  love  along  my  lonely  way, 
And  wait,  believing  all  Thou  dost  is  surely  best, 

Till  the  unfolding  of  a  brighter  day. 


LULIE'S  FIRST  BIRTHDAY  IN  HEAVEN. 
March  10,  1867. 

Thirteen  to-day!     Child  of  our  love,  how  bright 
Would  be  thy  smile  upon  this  natal  morn 
If  thou  wert  here! 
How  joyously  our  hearts  have  hailed  the  light 
Of  the  glad  day  when  thou  wert  born, 
Year  after  year! 

And  how  would  we  delight  our  love  to  show 
By  bringing  gifts  to  gladden  thy  young  heart 
Again  to-day. 
But  ah!  a  shadow  hides  our  sunshine  now; 
We  seek  thee  vainly,  for  alas!  thou  art 
Far,  far  away. 

So  far,  and  yet  I  seem  to  feel  thee  near, 
E'en  at  my  side,  as  now  with  saddened  thought 
I  think  of  thee, 
Thy  kiss  is  on  my  cheek  as  once  so  dear, 
Thy  loving  words  and  ways  are  freshly  brought 
All  back  to  me. 

65 


Ah!   little  did  we  dream  a  year  ago — 
And  thou  so  full  of  life  and  joy  to  greet 
Thy  birthday  dawn — 
When  next  it  came  we  should  be  mourning  so, 
And  walking  'neath  a  cloud  with  weary  feet, 
Thy  presence  gone. 

We  held  thee  then  as  but  a  child — our  own — 
Nor  dreamed  how  soon  thy  girlhood  would  expand 
With  wondrous  grace 
To  angel  womanhood,  all  wisdom  known, 
All  beauty  thine,  as  with  the  seraph  band 
Thou  hast  a  place. 

Lifted  so  far  above  us,  we  no  more 

Can  teach  thee,  but  ourselves  might  humbly  learn 
Lessons  refined 
From  thee  to-day,  vast  depths  of  heavenly  lore, 
Could  we  such  spirit  mysteries  discern 
With  mortal  mind. 

Only  thirteen!   so  early  done  with  life 
Below,  its  tiresome  tasks  and  teachers  dull; 
Wearied  no  more 
With  study,  nor  with  hindering  pain  at  strife, 
But  happy  freedom,  knowledge  ripe  and  full 
Thine  evermore! 

And  yet  our  hearts  with  selfish  yearning  long 
To  clasp  thee,  darling,  in  our  arms  again; 
Feel  thy  warm  breath 
Mingling  with  ours,  to  hear  thy  gleeful  song 
Ring  through  these  silent  halls  where  only  reign 
Echoes  of  death. 

But  we  repress  the  wish,  the  murmur  quell; 
Stay  with  the  angels,  it  is  better  so: 
Folded  above 
In  the  Good  Shepherd's  arms.    Ah!  it  is  well; 
This  world  is  wearisome,  and  mixed  with  woe 
All  finite  love. 

GG 


Perhaps  thou  art  the  centre  of  our  band 
Of  gathered  ones  to-day,  to  each  endeared; 
And  while  we  weep 
They  praise,  a  cherub  sister  holds  thy  hand. 

And  he  whose  dreary  age  thy  sunshine  cheered, 
With  some  unknown  till  now,  in  that  fair  land, 
Thy  birthday  keep. 

Let  it  be  so,  and  as  this  day  returns 
With  sacred  mem'ry.  'twill  be  joy  to  think 
How  year  by  year 
The  happy  hour  for  which  our  spirit  yearns, 
The  blest  Reunion  at  the  River's  brink, 
Is  drawing  near. 


"SUFFER  THE  LITTLE  CHILDREN  TO 
COME  UNTO  ME." 

Mark  x  :  14. 

We  listen,  charmed  with  Jesus'  sweet  command, 

And  long  to  place  beneath  His  loving  hand 

Our  little  ones,  that  they  may  early  be 

Folded  in  His  kind  arms  so  tenderly. 

But  soon  He  sends  his  angel  Death  to  some, 

And  calls  more  clearly,  "Let  the  children  come." 

And  then  we  start  and  wildly  cry,  "Lord,  nay, 

Oh  make  them  Thine,  but  let  them  with  us  stay; 

This  world  will  be  so  dark,  so  sadly  still 

Without  their  glee  the  dreary  void  to  fill." 

"Forbid    them    not" — the    Voice    thrills    through    our 

home — 
"Suffer  the  children  unto  Me  to  come." 

"Cut  loose  those  clinging  tendrils  though  they  bleed; 
Unclasp  thine  arms  and  let  the  spirit  freed 
Wing  its  glad  flight  to  brighter  spheres  above, 
To  know  My  better  care,  My  deeper  love. 
Safe  in  My  fold,  they  nevermore  shall  roam. 
Suffer  the  children  unto  Me  to  come." 

87 


"Thy  prayer  is  heard,  though  you  may  call  thern  dead, 
With  Me  they  live,  and  on  each  angel  head 
My   hand   in   blessing  rests,    My   arms   enfold 
Each  infant  form;  here  they  shall  ne'er  grow  old, 
Nor  want  nor  sorrow  know  in  this  blest  Home; 
Suffer  the  children  unto  Me  to  come." 

Dear  Lord!  we  know,  we  feel  that  this  is  so. 

Oh,  give  us  strength  to  let  our  dear  ones  go 

At  Thy  command,  to  strive  more  earnestly 

To  train  the  living  for  eternity — 

That  they  may  share  the  same  unshadowed  Home 

With   Thee  who  said,   "Let  the  dear  children   come." 


"IS  IT  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD?" 

II  Kings  iv:  26. 

Yes,  it  is  well,  though  fast  the  tears  are  falling, 
And  sobs  of  anguish  rend  the  breast. 

We  know  it  was  the  Saviour  gently  calling 
"Come  to  My  bosom,  little  one,  and  rest." 
So  it  is  well. 

'Twas  hard  to  see  our  little  darling  wrestling 
With   the  Death  angel's  fearful  power, 

And  know  how  soon  she  would  asleep  be  nestling 
In  his  cold  arms  to  wake  on  earth  no  more. 
Yet  it  is  well. 

And  when  she  seemed  so  peacefully  reposing 

In  her  sweet  infant  loveliness, 
'Twas  hard  to  see  the  dark  grave  o'er  her  closing 

And  hiding  the  dear  form  from  our  caress, 
Still  it  is  well. 

Too  frail  for  earth,  our  little  fragile  flower, 
Saved  from  the  chilling  frosts  of  life, 

Transplanted  early  to  a  heavenly  bower, 
Will  ever  bloom,  untouched  by  care  or  strife, 
So  it  is  well. 


God  loved  our  child  and  took  her  deathless  spirit 

Up  to  His  own  all-glorious  Home, 
To  dwell  with  angels  and  their  bliss  inherit, 

For  Jesus  said,  "Let  little  children  come." 
Then   it   is  well. 

His  love  is  stronger  than  our  weak  affection 

However  well  we  think  we  love, 
And  better  far  than  ours,  His  sure  protection, 

Fairer  than  mansions  here,  His  House  above. 
Yes,  it  is  well. 

In  that  safe  fold,  no  pain  or  want  molesting, 
Secure   from   childhood's   wild  alarms, 

Forever  blest,  our  precious  lamb  is  resting 
Sweetly  in  the  Good  Shepherd's  loving  arms. 
Ah  yes,  'tis  well. 

Those  little  feet  would  here  be  often  weary 

And  led  to  stray  in  paths  of  sin; 
Shadowed  too  oft  by  clouds  and  tempests  dreary, 

Might  fail  at  last  the  victor's  crown  to  win; 
'Tis  well,  'tis  well. 

Now  early  saved  from  Life's  stern  care  and  duty, 
From  Time's  assoil  and  Death's  dark  fear, 

Our  darling  lives  to  grow  in  angel  beauty, 
And  taste  fresh  joy  with  every  added  year; 
Yes,  yes,  'tis  well! 

Father!  be  pitiful,  grant  resignation; 

In  this  weak  hour  be  Thou  our  stay. 
Forgive  our  human  grief,  send  consolation, 

And  give  us  strength  and  courage  still  to  say 
Lord,  it  is  well. 

ON  THE  BRINK  OF  THE  RIVER. 
May  13,  1867. 
By  the  brink  of  the  shaded  River 
/  God  called  me  to  walk  one  day. 

Oh!    the  chilliness  made  me  shiver, 
And  I  tried  to  turn  away. 


But  my  hand  was  clasped  in  another, 

A  hand  that  had  held  me  fast 
All  my  life.    Ah!  who  like  a  mother 

So  fondly  clings  to  the  last? 

Together  we  pressed  near  and  nearer, 

Till  we  touched  the  waters  wild. 
I  started,  her  calm  look  said  clearer 

Than  words,  "I'm  going,  my  child." 
"Going  far  over  the  River 

Where  our  dear  ones  wait  for  me. 
The  angels  will  take  me  safe  over, 

And   shortly  will  come   for  thee." 

Then  wildly  I  sought  to  detain  her 

With  a  fond  clinging  caress; 
Praying,  "Father!   oh  let  me  retain  her 

This  dreary  life  yet  to  bless." 
But  while  I  thus  cried  out  for  pity, 

She  saw,  what  I  could  not  see, 
The  gates  of  the  wonderful  City 

Wide  open  across  the  sea. 

And  all  my  entreaties  unheeding, 

Away  on  the  darkling  tide 
Her  spirit  too  swiftly  receding, 

Left  me  alone  on  this  side; 
Alone  on  the  brink  of  the  River 

Bewildered  with  darkness  and  woe, 
In  my  heart  a  terrible  quiver, 

In  my  ear  the  sad  waves  flow. 

But  while  with  eye  fixed  and  breath  bated, 

Longing  vainly  for  one  sight  more 
Of  my  vanishing  joy,  I  waited, 

A  wave  from  the  farther  shore 
Brought  ripples  of  heavenly  music, 

A  welcoming  choral  sound, 
And  flashes  of  wonderful  glory 

Illumined  the  clouds  around. 

70 


Then  I  seemed  with  the  spirit's  assistance 

Brought  nearer  the  far-off   land, 
Where  faces  I  knew  in  the  distance 

Shone  bright  mid  the  white-robed  band, 
And  I  heard  through  the  tuneful  humming 

A  child's  voice  say  to   its  mate, 
"Look,  Grandpa,  dear  Grandma  is  coming! 

Let  us  meet  her  at  the  Gate." 

And  over  the  pavement  golden, 

On  through  the  beautiful  street, 
With  others  more  steady  and  olden 

Tripped   lightly  the  little  feet. 
And  oh!   what  a  rapturous  greeting, 

What  folding  in   love's  embrace, 
My  lost  one  received  at  the  meeting 

Of  kindred  in  that  bright  place. 

Then  slowly  the  glittering  portal 

Closed    on    my    wondering    sight; 
And  back  to  the  shades  of  the  mortal, 

Alone  in  the  stillness  of  night, 
I  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  River, 

Parted  from  Love  evermore, 
Till  its  waves  my  soul  shall  deliver 

From  earth  to  yonder  fair  shore. 

And  back  to  Life's  pilgrimage  dreary, 

Back  to  my  sorrow  and  tears, 
I  turned  heavy-hearted  and  weary, 

To  tread  out  the  coming  years. 
But  a  light  from  the  shore  Elysian 

Oft  glimmers  across  the  sea; 
And  the  thought  of  my  Heavenly  vision 

Brings  comfort  and  strength  to  me. 

A  MINOR  STRAIN. 

Gladness  and  beauty  everywhere! 
The  earth   and   sky,  birds  of  the  air 
And  creeping  things,    rejoice  to   give 
Praises  to  Him  who  bids  them  live. 


71 


All  Nature  thrills  beneath  a  touch  divine; 
Then  why  so  sadly  still,  O  heart  of  mine! 

Sweet  Summer,  beautiful  and  bright, 
Scatters  its  charms  of  sound  and  sight, 
Sunshine  and  song,  fragrance  and  bloom. 
Leaving  for  selfish  grief  no  room. 
But  Summer  grace  nor  melody  can  start 
One  note  responsive  in  this  silent  heart. 

So  out  of  tune  with  Nature!  sad, 

When  all  Creation  seems  most  glad! 

Oh  thankless  heart,   thus  to  repine 

Because   God's   purpose   crosses   thine! 
So  like  a  wilful  child  to  chafe  and  fret, 
And  all  thy  Father's  lovingness  forget. 

What  though  the  heart  is  still  that  loved  thee  best; 

The  hands  for  thee  so  busy  ever,  rest. 

Eyes  that  have  met  thine  own  with  Love's  fond  ray, 

Will  gladden  nevermore  Life's  weary  way; 
The  voice,  unequalled  in  its  power  to  bless, 
Is  hushed?    Yet  does  God  love  thee  less? 

Not  less,  but  more;  this  chastening  proves 

His  Fatherhood,  how  much  He  loves. 

How  He  would  draw  His  wandering  child 

Close  to  Himself  from  dangers  wild; 
He  lifts  the  rod,  but  in  one  hand  the  while 
Holds  out  the  cup  of  comfort  with  a  smile. 

The  smile  of  God!    how  lovingly 

It  rests  on  all  His  works!      Then   be 

Assured,  O  smitten  heart!  and  wake 

Your  harp  to  praise,  its  silence  break. 
Join  in  the  spheral  harmony  again, 
E'en  though  it  must  be  in  a  minor  strain. 

72 


THE  VANISHED  HAND. 

Oh,   "the  touch  of  a  vanished   hand!" 

It  comes  to  me  o'er  and  o'er, 
As  I  wander  in  dreams  mid  the  golden  sand 

And  drifts  on  Mem'ry's  shore. 

Through  the  portals  of  my  sleep 

Bright  visions  flit  to  and  fro; 
Like  a  child  I  laugh,  and  again  1  weep, 

As  I  did  in  the  long  ago. 

And  anear  me  I  see  a  face 

Bent  as  in  loving  caress, 
With  a  smile  I  know  in  its  silent  grace 

And  its  old-time  tenderness. 

And  with  it  that  "vanished  hand," 

Those  fingers  so  deft  and  fair, 
So  oft  uplifted  in  gentle  command, 

Or  laid  on  my  rumpled  hair, 

Again  is  as  tenderly  pressed 

On  my  wishful,  throbbing  brow, 
And  the  touch  transfigures  the  fading  Fast 

Into  a  glorified  Now. 

Oh  the  vanished  things  of  earth 

Are  never  so  far  away, 
But  stillness  and  shadow  can  give  them  birth 

With  the  strength  of  eternal  day! 

A  YEAR  AGO. 
May  13,  1S68. 

How  near,  and  yet  how  far  off  seems 
That  point  of  time — the  dreary  day 

That  quenched   in  night  its  brighest  gleams — 
As  cold  and  silent  our  beloved  lay 

So  beautiful  in  her  last  sleep, 

Smiling,  while  we  in  anguish  weep. 
0   day   of   woe!     One  year   ago! 


A  year  ago! 
And  yet  it  seems  but  yesterday 
We  tasted  of  the  cup  of  grief, 
So  long  its  bitterness  doth  stay, 

So  little  has  Time  brought  relief; 
And  Memory  so  freshly  rolls 
The  tide  of  sorrow  o'er  our  souls; 

Yet   'twas,   we  know,   a  year  ago. 

Only  a  year? 
Rather  an  age  of  weary  years! 

Uncounted   cycles  dim  and  vast! 
So  bridgeless  the  dark  gulf  appears 

Between  the  Present  and  the  Past. 
So  far  off  seems  the  happy  day 
When  the  dear  presence  cheered  our  way; 
Though  it  was  so  one  year  ago. 

Ah  what  is  life? 
When  the  dear  mother-love  that  blessed 

And  made  it  life  is  once  withdrawn, 
And  the  heart  vainly  seeks  the  rest 
Unfailing  since  its  being's  dawn? 
'Tis  a  long  night  without  a  star — 
A  waiting  for  some  joy  afar — 

God  taught  us  so,  a  year  ago. 

And  dost  thou  know, 
Dear  one,  how  thy  poor  orphaned  child, 
Homesick  and  lone,  yearns  after  thee? 
How  Earth  seems  but  a  dreary  wild 

Since  thy  fond  smile  was  hid   from  me? 
Hast  thou  been  near  my  grief  to  quell 
With  silent  love,  since  on  us  fell 

That  cloud  of  woe,  a  year  ago? 

I  see  thee  still 
In  peaceful  visions  of  the  night, 
Beside  thee,  I  forget  my  pain, 
As  round  me  plays  the  dear  home  light 

74 


Without  a  shadow  once  again. 
But  while  I  gaze  on  thy  bright   i 
Waking,  thou'rt  gone  from  my  embrace, 
As  thou  didst  go  a  year  ago. 

From  childhood's  hour 
I've  thought  'twould  surely  break  my  heart 

To  see  thee  die,  and  have  to  bear 
Life's  burdens  on  from  thee  apart. 

And  yet  I  live,  and  sometimes  wear 
A  smile — as  if  there  were  no  ache 
Within — as  though  I  did  not  wake 
To  miss  thee  so,  a  year  ago! 

Ah,  is  it  true 
That  thy  freed  spirit  lingers  near 

With  ministrations  sweet  to  give 
The  strength  to  check  the  starting  tear, 

Courage  and  patience  yet  to  live? 
Then,  wondering  heart,  the  reason  see 
Thou  didst  not  break  in  agony 

When  smitten  so,  a  year  ago. 

Thank  God,  my  soul, 
That  Heaven  is  not  so  far  away 

But  that  our  loved  ones,  lost  to  sight, 
Beside  us  yet  may  ever  stay 

To  make  our  darkest  moments  light. 
And  still  the  mother-love,  so  sweet, 
May  watch  and  guide  my  stumbling  feet, 
Though  lost  below,  a  year  ago. 

A  year  ago! 
What  an  eternity  of  joy 

And  peace,  beloved,  has  been  thine, 
Of  blessedness  without  alloy! 

Then  why  should  sighs  and  tears  be  mine? 
Why  should  a  murmur  cross  my  breast 
That  thou  didst  enter  into  rest 

Amid  our  woe,  a  year  ago? 

75 


"AFTERWARD." 

Not  while  the  surging  billows  roll 
And  overwhelm  the  struggling  soul, 
While  darkness  black  as  Egypt's  night 
Shuts  out  all  gleams  of  Heaven's  light; 
Not  then  the  blessing  comes  to  show 
The  fruits  that  from  affliction  grow, 
But  "afterward." 

Not  while  the  bleeding,  breaking  heart 
Aches  'neath  the  chastening's  keenest  smart, 
And   counting  o'er  its  woes   again 
Can  only  throb  with  bitter  pain; 
Not  then  the  wounded  soul  can  know 
The  fruits  that  from  such  anguish  grow, 
But  "afterward." 

Not  while  with  quivering  lip  and  eye 
We  watch  our  dear  ones  fade  and  die, 
Or  gaze  into  the  open  grave, 
Feeling  our  impotence  to  save, 
Then,  only  grievous  seems  the  case — 
The  peaceful  fruits  of  righteousness 
Come  "afterward." 

When  the  first  tempest  gust  is  o'er, 
Calmed  by  a  Voice  unheard  before, 
When  God's  own  hand  the  clouds  uplift, 
And  stars  beam  brightly  through  the  rift, 
Tis  then  the  heart  begins  to  know 
What  fruit  from  sorest  grief  below 
Comes  "afterward." 

When  Heavenly  grace  so  pure  and  calm, 
Pours  o'er  the  wound  its  healing  balm; 
While  the  sweet  Comforter  is  near 
To  whisper  words  of  holy  cheer; 
The  troubled  spirit  then  may  know 
What  blessedness  from  pain  can  flow 
Long  "afterward." 

76 


When  some  bright  flower,  till  then  unknown, 
Springs,  with  a  beauty  all   its  own, 
Beside  the  path  so  drear  before, 
And  lives  a  blessing  evermore; 
The  lonely  heart  then  learns  to  smile, 
Counting  its  treasures  less  the  while, 
But  "afterward." 

But  ah!  not  yet  may  we  discern 
One  half  the  blessedness,  nor  learn 
The  hidden  good  that  lurks  within 
Each  stroke  of  painful  discipline. 
Only  in  Heaven  can  we  know 
All  the  rich  fruit  which  earthly  woe 
Yields  "afterward." 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  GRATEFUL  LOVE. 

E.  J.  S. 

Gone  from  our  sight,  yet  truly  present  still, 

And  living  in  the  lives  and  hearts 
Her  forceful  soul  did  early  touch  and  thrill 

With  the  diviner  life  such  power  imparts. 

In  many  a  home  the  impress  of  her  thought 

And  culture  may  be  clearly  shown, 
As  her  sweet  graciousness  is  daily  taught 

By  mother-love  in  word  and  tone. 

O'er  many  a  path  oft  rugged  and  forlorn, 
There  shines  through  memory's  lengthened  aisle- 

And  clouds  uplift,  new  hope  and  strength  are  born- 
The  light  of  her  benignant  smile. 

Hers  was  a  subtle  charm — we  could  not  tell — 

Was  it  the   stately   form,   the   face 
So  fair,  the  love-lit  eye,  the  words  that  fell 

In   gentle   tones,    the   winning   grace 


77 


Of  sympathy,  that  wove  the  wondrous  spell 
Around  young  hearts?     Yea,  all   combined 

And  more — the  selfless  soul  which  bore  so  well 
The  image  of  the  Christ  it  shrined. 

She  cannot  die;   a  life  so  strong,  so  pure, 

So   beautiful   can   never   cease; 
Breathed  into  other  lives  'twill  still  endure, 

And  grow  in  blessing  as  the  years  increase. 

Beside  her  native  hills,  beneath  the  flowers 
She   loved,   the  mortal   is   at  rest; 

But  the  sweet  spirit-life  will  still  be  ours, 
An  inspiration  ever  blest. 


TO  ONE  BELOVED. 

Friend  of  my  life!  how  can  1  let  thee  go 
Behind  the  veil,  beyond  my  sight 
And    touch,    and    lose    the    light 

Of  those  dear  eyes,  so  long  my  joy  below? 

How  can  1  give  thee  up,  and  know  no  more 
The  sweet  refreshment  of  thy  love — 
To  me  all   earthly  springs  above — 

Through  lonely  desert  paths  that  lie  before? 

How  can  I  live  and  know  each  passing  day 
Widens  the  space  from  the  dear  Past, 
When  days  were  bright  from  first  to  last, 

For  thy  fond  smile  made  sunshine  all  the  way? 

Only  one  star,  beloved,  can  illume 
The  shadow  by  thine  absence  cast; 
The  thought  that  each  dark  night  once  past 

Brings  nearer  the  glad  dawn  beyond  the  tomb 

When  we  shall  meet  again,  and  I  shall  know 
Such  love  as  thine  can  never  end; 
And  for  the  gift  of  such  a  friend 

Praise  to  the  Giver  evermore   bestow. 


78 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS 


THE  REAWAKENING. 

Behold  again  the  dreary  earth  awaking 

From  Winter's  lengthened  slumber! 
Flushed  with  new  life,  a  robe  of  freshness  taking, 

Spring's   brighter  days  to  number. 

Nature,  so  late  in  deathlike  gloom  enshrouded, 

Rises  in  vernal  beauty; 
Each  buried  germ  wakes  from  its  tomb  unclouded 

And  springs  to  joyful  duty. 

A   viewless   power   is   everywhere   performing 

A  daily  resurrection; 
Bleak  wastes,  dead  trees  and  barren  fields  transforming 

To  blossoming  perfection. 

May  the  same  Power  our  lifeless  souls  inherit, 

And  our  dead  faith  enliven; 
Come   with   Thy   quickening  breath,   Creator   Spirit, 

And  help  us  live  for  Heaven. 

At  this  glad  season  when  Thy  might  is  thrilling 

The  pulses  of  Creation, 
Revive  our  sluggish  powers,  our  spirits  filling 

With  holy  inspiration. 

Then   shall  each   hidden  germ  of  grace  unfolding 

In  living  strength  and  beauty, 
With  bud  and  fruitage  bloom',  no  more  withholding 

Its  true  and  thankful  duty. 

So  when  shall  end  for  us  this  earthly  dreaming — 

Time's  wintry  hours  hasting — 
Our  ransomed   souls   shall  rise,  with  glory  beaming, 

To  Springtime  everlasting. 

81 


SPRINGTIME. 

The  Lord  is  walking  with  a  stately  tread 

Amid  earth's  gardens,  and  behold!  the  dead, 
At  His  revivifying  breath, 
Spring  from  the  icy  grasp  of  death! 
Gladly  a  quick  obedience  give 
To  His  command,  "Arise,  and  live." 

His  hand  is  on  creation's  heart,  so  still; 

The  life-tide  flows,  the  pulses  throb  and  thrill 
With  conscious  being,  and  a  rosy  hue 
Her  pale  and  rigid  features  clothes  anew. 

Gently  His  fingers  touch  the  silent  loom 

Of  nature,  and  its  wheels  begin  to  move, 

And  swiftly  weave  the  Springtide's  robe  of  bloom 

So  noiselessly;   its  motive  power,  love. 

O   wonder-working  will! 

Sublime,  supernal  skill! 

A  touch,  a  word,  a  breath 

Revives,  reclaims  from  death, 
Spreads  waving  verdure  over  hillsides  bare, 
Awakens  life  and  beauty  everywhere. 

O  Lord,  Thy  people,  with  attentive  ear, 
Thy  tread  in  Zion's  gardens  wait  to  hear; 
Shrouded  in  more  than  wintry  gloom, 
We  watch  and  sigh  for  vernal  bloom. 
Thy  Spirit's  quickening  breath  alone 
Can  kindle  life  in  hearts  of  stone, 
Reanimate  dead  souls,  fresh  vigor  give, 
Bid  the  asleep  in  sin,  awake  and  live. 

Come,  source  of  Life  and  Light  and  Spring, 
To  Thine  own  vineyard  fruitage  bring. 


SEED-TIME. 

The  promise  does  not  fail,  seed-time  again 

Returns,  and  Earth  with  hope,  delayed,  revives. 

The  genial  sunshine  and  the  gentle  rain 

Begin  their  work  and  Springtime  beauty  lives. 


Again   the   hills   resound   with  notes  of  Spring, 
The  ploughman's  whistle,  and  the  sower's  song; 

The  iron  share  cutting  with  cheery  ring 
The  hardened  turf  untilled  by  man  so  long. 

With  patient  toil  we  tread  the  furrows  deep, 

And  scatter  seed  with  an  unsparing  hand; 
Then  wait  and  watch,  assured  that  we  shall  reap 

When  promised  harvests  wave  o'er  all  the  land. 
Thus  should  we  sow  with  patient  trustful  care 

In  better  fields  the  Gospel's  precious  seed; 
Then  watch  and  wait  with  humble  faithful  prayer 

Till  God's  own  time  shall  bring  our  promised  meed. 

Dear  Lord,  so  long  we've  sowed  in  hope  and  tears, 

In  mellow  soil  and  by  the  wayside  some; 
But  little  fruit  of  all  our  toil  appears; 

Tis  seed-time  yet — when  will  the  harvest  come? 
We  know  Thy  promise  standeth  just  as  sure 

In  moral  as  in  natural  husbandry; 
Then  give  us  faith  and  courage  to  endure, 

E'en  though  we  reap  not  till  Eternity. 


AUTUMN  CONTRASTS. 

How  wondrously  bright  are  these  Autumn  days, 

This  sunset  time  of  the  year! 
When  the  forests  are  tinged  with  crimson  rays, 

And  the  skies  in  golden  appear. 

Tis  now  God  gives  in  His  fullness  of  love 

To  Nature,  His  favorite  child, 
A  robe  many-tinted  of  beauty  inwove 

With  a  royalty  undented. 

A  rainbow-like  halo  each  eve  enwreathes 

Its   glory   o'er   hilltop   and   vale; 
But  sad  to  my  ear  is  the  rustle  of  leaves, 

And  the  echoing  wind's  low  wail. 


It  tells  of  a  summer  of  gladness  gone, 

Of  death  to  the  lily  and  rose; 
Of  pleasures  departed  and  harvesting  done — 

A  year  hastening  on  to  its  close. 

It  wakens  a  sigh  for  the  loved  and  the  lost 

Who  sleep  in  the  churchyard  alone; 
Where  the  leaflets  fade  with  the  earliest  frost, 

And  the  breeze  has  a  dirge-like  tone. 

Yet  mid  all  these  tokens  of  earthly  decay 
The  promise  of  God  standeth  sure — 

That  death  bringeth  life,  and  Winter's  dark  day 
Spring  heralds,  while  Time  shall  endure. 

Thus  ever  Earth's  blessings  compounded  we  meet, 

Thus  mingles  October  with  May; 
'Tis  sunshine  and  shadow,  the  bitter  and  sweet, 

The   grave   undertoning  the  gay. 

But   Faith  whispers  sweetly  of  blessings  to   come, 

Unmingled   with  sorrow  or  strife; 
A  Springtime  eternal,  an  unfading  Home, 

A  deathless,  unchangeable  Life! 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  LEAVES. 

I  walk  my  garden  with  a  heavy  tread; 

A  grief  I  cannot  tell 

Steals  o'er  me  as  I  see 

The  things  I  love  so  well, 
The  bright  young  leaves  fall  round  me  withered,  dead. 

Of  late  so  beautiful,  they  glorified 

Our  earth  with  emerald  crown; 

Now  low  they  lie  and  meekly  die, 

In  death-robes  russet  brown, 
Fluttering  in  air,  or  in  dark  hollows  hide. 

84 


Heaps  upon  heaps  they  lie  unburied  yet, 

Waiting  till  snow-flakes  spread 
A  saintly  pall  over  them  all, 

And  cover  up  the  dead, 
While  wintry   winds  chant  dirges  of  regret. 

A  short,  sweet  life  was  theirs,  yet  not  in  vain; 

Through  the  long  Summer  day, 

A  welcome  shade  their  arches  made 

P^rom  the  sun's  scorching  ray, 
Where  weary  man  and  beast  might  rest  again. 

Nor  shall  they  die  in  vain;  freely  they  give 

Their  beauty  to  decay, 

And  in  their  death  impart  new  breath 

To  germs  that  Spring's  bright  day 
Shall  bid  arise  in  beauteous  forms  to  live. 

O  gentle  leaves!    I  have  a  lesson  read 

In  this  brief  hour  of  thought: 
May  my  life  be  a  ministry, 

Like  yours,  with  good  so  fraught 
That  one  at  least  may  mourn  when   I  am  dead. 


THE  FIRST  FROST. 

A  blight  upon  our  fair  Creation  rests! 

The  face  of  Nature,  yesterday  so  bright, 

Downcast  and  sorrowful  appears  to-day. 

The   lingering   Summer  bloom   is  gone,   for   lo! 

In  the  still  night,  while  men  unconscious  slept, 

A  spirit  stern  and  cold  with  noiseless  tread 

Walked  o'er  the  earth,  and  ruin  marks   his  track. 

He  breathed  upon  the  flowfers,  and  they  died; 

He  laid  his  chilling  hand  upon  the  leaves, 

And   they   hang  limp   and   lifeless   from  their   stems. 

He  pressed  his  foot  on  Nature's  tender  heart, 

And  sent  through  every  nerve  a  thrill  of  pain. 

Quickly  the  bounding  pulse  of  growth  is  stopped, 

And  in  the  place  of  living  beauty  lie 

Only   still,   blackened   corpses   in   decay. 

85 


So  we  have  seen  the  hope  of  some  young  life, 
The  opening  buds  of  childhood's   love  and  truth, 
Ruthlessly  nipped  in  all  their  summer  bloom, 
By  biting  word  of  blame  or  cruel  scorn. 
Unkindness,  like  the  frost,  withers  the  heart 
And  checks  the  growth  of  loving  thoughts  and  deeds; 
It  turns  the  tide  of  generous  feeling  back 
Into  itself,  which  else  would  gush  and  flow 
In  living  streams  of  good  to  all  around. 
And  though  the  morning  sun  with  fondling  beams 
Strives  to  undo  the  ill,  and  warm  to  life 
Again  the  beauteous  dead,  'tis  all  in  vain — 
The  fount  of  life  is  dried  to  flow  no  more 
Till  the  eternal  resurrection  day. 

Oh  wound  not  then  the  spirit  of  a  child! 
Deal  gently  with  the  tender  chords  that  thrill 
By  e'en  so  slight  a  touch  with  joy  or  pain. 
A  careless  word  or  act  may  blight  for  aye 
The  germ  of  a  true  life  designed  to  bless 
The  world;  and  all  the  sunny  afterglow 
Of  love  and  care  will  unavailing  be 
To  nurse  that   frosted  bud  into  a  flower'. 


THANKSGIVING  HYMN. 
In  War  Time,  1863. 

Once  more  returns  the  hallowed  day  of  praise, 
Wh?n  Pilgrim  faith  uplifted  grateful  lays, 
Thus  bend  we  now  at  sacred  shrines  and  raise 
Our  thanks  to  Thee,  O  God! 

For    bounteous   blessings,    health   and   harvests   rare, 
New   springs  of  good   o'erflowing   everywhere, 
For  gifts  of  grace,  a  loving  Father's  care, 
We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 

Though  traitor's  schemes  have  brought  us  woes  untold, 
O'er  our  fair  land  War's  direful   streams  have  rolled, 
Still  for  the  light  we  through  the  clouds  behold, 
We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 


86 


Though    shadows    deep    on    many    hearthstones    rest, 
Where  Sorrow  sits,  an  uninvited  guest, 
And  thoughts  of  vanished   ones  fill  every  breast, 
We  thank  Thee  still,  O  God! 

For  loyalty  supreme,  for  patriots  brave, 
True,  dauntless  souls  who  peril  life  to  save 
Our  heritage   from  an  ignoble  grave, 

We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 

For  vic'tries  to  our  arms,  to  Truth  and  Right, 
For  universal  Freedom's  dawning  light, 
For  growing  Righteousness,  a  nation's  might, 
We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 

For  Thine  own  Self  revealed,  a  sovereign  Will 
Guiding  all  worlds  Thy  purpose  to  fulfill, 
Our  Father's  Refuge,  our  strong  Fortress  still! 
We  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 

Oh  hear  our  prayer  and  by  Thy  might  restore 
Union  and  Peace  to  our  dear  land  once  more. 
Then   grateful   hearts  shall   praise  Thee  evermore, 
And  thank  Thee,  O  our  God! 


THANKSGIVING  HYMN. 
For  Peace,  November,  1865. 

Great  God!  again  we  sing 

Our  yearly  hymn  of  praise; 
Once  more  our  tribute  bring 
In  glad  thanksgiving  lays. 
Thy  bounteous  hand, 

With  boundless  love 
Has  blessed  our  land 
All  lands  above. 

Thy  kind  parental   care 

Has  kept  from  want  and  woe, 
Commanded  harvests  rare 

For  future  need  to  grow. 

87 


For  daily   food 

And  gifts  of  grace, 

Oh  Lord,  our  God! 
Thy  name  we  praise. 

A  blessing  greater  still 

Has  crowned  the  passing  year; 
Mid   conflict's  direful  ill, 
Sweet  Peace  again  draws  near. 
The  dismal  sound 
Of  strife  is  o'er, 
And  brothers  found 
Learn  war  no  more. 

Author  of  Peace!   receive 

A  nation's  thankful  song; 
The  vict'ries  we  achieve 
To  Thine  own  arm   belong. 
United  hearts 

In  this  glad  hour 
To  Thee  ascribe 
All  praise  and  power. 


THE  CLOSING  YEAR. 

Hark!  what  a  solemn  sound  falls  on  the  ear! 

Floating  on  midnight  air 

Like  a  saint's  dying  prayer; 
It  is  the  knell  of  the  departing  year! 

Dirge-like  and  low  its  tone,  then  swells  again 

Like  the  wild  surges'  moan, 

Or  the  deep  thunder's   groan; 
Now,  like  the  windharp's  sadly  plaintive  strain. 

Softly   its   lingering   echoes   seem   to   say, 

Clear  as  the  tolling  bell, 

"Mortals,  a  long  farewell; 
Man,  Earth  and  Time  are  passing  swift  away." 


Farewell,  Old  Year!   thy  sands  are  ebbing  fast; 

Burdened  with  hopes  and  fears, 

Softened  with  sorrow's  tears, 
Go  to  thy  grave  in  the  oblivious  Past. 

There  in  the  stillness  of  that  shadowy  dome, 

Where  buried  Ages  sleep, 

In  slumber,  dreamless,  deep, 
Mid   tombstones   of  thy  sires  thou'll   find   a   home. 

Nor  shalt  thou  e'er  to  us  again  return; 

Thy  priceless  moments  given 

To  fit  the  soul  for  Heaven 
Are  gone,  though  long  the  vital  spark  may  burn. 

Faded  are  many  glowing  dreams  of  Youth, 

Which  at  thy  joyous  birth 

Were  bright  with  hopes  of  earth; 
Now  all  unrealized  tbey  yield  to  Truth. 

And  many  visions,  too,  of  riper  years, 

Gay  pleasures  of  a  day, 

With  thee  will  pass  away, 
And  hearts,  once  crowned  with  smiles,  will  bow  in  tears. 

Sad  memories  cluster  round  thy  fleeting  form, 

For  snowflakes  lightly  rest 

On  many  a  loving  breast, 
Which   when   thy   course   began   with    life   was   warm. 

Now  the  last  echo  of  the  parting  chime 

Is  lost  upon  the  breeze 

Which   sighs  through   forest  trees 
A  mournful  requiem  for  the  passing  Time. 

Up  the  recording  Angel  wings  his  flight 

To  the  great  Court  above, 

Where  Justice  throned  with  Love 
Receives  his  record  writ  in  words  of  light. 

"Another  year  has  flown!   its  blessings  spurned, 

Man  will  review  with  grief; 

And  now,  another  leaf 
In  the  great  book  of  human  life  is  turned." 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  YEAR. 

The  year  is  dying,  slowly  dying; 

Gather  softly  round  his  bed, 
Wearily  behold  him  lying, 
While  Earth's  many  voices,  sighing 

Chant  a  requiem  for  the  dead. 

Breathe  a  loving  prayer  of  blessing 

In  the  aged  pilgrim's  ear; 
Our  misdeeds  to  him  confessing, 
Thanks  for  every  good  expressing, 

Strive  his  dying  hour  to  cheer. 

Faithfully  his  servant  willing 

His  appointed  race  has  run; 
God's  own  purposes  fulfilling, 
Human  destiny  revealing 

Patiently  from  sun  to  sun. 

Now  his  earthly  record's  ended, 
Nothing  more  remains  to  tell. 

Let  the  hero  die,  attended 

By   Hope    and   Love   and    Sorrow   blended, 
While  we  say,  "Old  year,  farewell!" 


A  NEW  YEAR  REVERIE. 

Another   year   with    hope    and    promise   bright 

Is  dawning  on  mankind.    Upon  the  arch 

Of  time  spanning  the  narrow  gulf  which  parts 

The  Old  and  New  we  stand   with  solemn  thought 

And  view  at  once  the  swift  receding  wave 

Of  the  past  year  and  the  unruffled  stream 

Of  that  to  come.     Soon  we  shall  launch  our  bark 

Upon  the  onward  tide  to  meet  its  toil 

And  danger,  calm  or  storm,  unknown  as  yet, 

And  leave  upon  its  shores  a  witness  true 

That  we  have  passed  that  way. 

90 


The  rushing  breeze 
Brings  to  our  ears  a  murmur  from  the  past, 
A  minor  undertone  of  human  woe: 
Lost  hopes,  departed  joys  and  buried  loves 
Gone  with  the  year!    By  many  a  home  there  rests 
Death's  dreary  shadow,  and  the  festive  board 
Lacks  the  full  joy  of  an  unbroken  band. 
And  yet  all  is  not  sad.    Blessings  from  God, 
Like  Israel's  daily  manna,  fresh  and  free, 
Have  fallen  on  our  path.    So  thankfully 
We  cast  aside  our  sorrow  as  we  close 
The  record  of  the  dying  year. 

Behold 
Before  us  like  a  field  of  spotless  snow, 
Pure  and  untrodden,  lies  the  fresh  new  year; 
Untracked  by  man,  unstained  by  aught  of  sin 
Or  grief.     We  pause  ere  yet  our  footstep  makes 
Its  mark  thereon  and  seek  for  strength  above 
That  we  may  plant  it  wisely,  nobly,  well. 
The  past  is  gone,  the  future  is  our  own 
To  dim  or  brighten  by  deeds  good  or  111. 
Let  us  go  bravely  forth,  trusting  in  God, 
And  fearing  naught  but  sin,  to  earnest  work 
For  Christ  and  man,  that  we  may  leave  the  print 
Of  only  lofty  thoughts  and  words  and  deeds, 
Which  to  some  wandering  soul  that  follows  on 
May  make  the  coming  year  the  road  to  Heaven. 


A  NEW  YEAR  THOUGHT. 

Once  more  I  stand  beside  an  open  door — ■ 
The  New  Year's  portal— andr  as  oft  before, 
I  pause  upon  the  threshold,  almost  fear 
To  enter  the  unknown  domain;  to  hear 
The  echo  of  my  footsteps,  as  they  break 
The  silence  of  the  yet  unpeopled  way; 
To  meet  the  waiting  changes,  and  to  take 
My  part  in  life's  new  drama,  day  by  day. 


!)1 


And  yet,  I  cannot  linger;  swiftly  glide 
The  moments,  and  the  door  swings  open  wide. 
I  am  within,  and  cannot  backward  trace 
One  single  step;    hut  patiently  must  face 
What  e'er  may  come,  assured  that  good  or  ill, 
One  who  knows  all  the  way  will  lead  me  still. 

The  Old   Year  brought  me  sorrow,   shall   the  New 

Bring  only  joy?    Shall  he  my  pathway  strew 

With  flowers,  or  thorns?     I  cannot  tell;   in  vain 

I  peer  into  the  shadow  dim  to  gain 

One  glimpse  of  the  beyond.     I  can  but  pray 

"Lead  Thou  me  on,"  in  faith's  unquestioning  way. 

Let  the  crushed  roses  of  the  past  exhale 

Their  fragrance  through  the  New  Year's  dubious  vale. 

"Lead  Thou  me  on."    Let  this  year  see  attained 
Some  truer  good,  some  loftier  summit  gained 
In  spirit  life;   some  higher  steps  in  grace 
Lead  Thou  my  wavering  feet  to  trace. 
To  better  service,  a  more  steadfast  zeal 
Guide  me  and  make  Thy  guiding  real; 
With  my  weak  hand  in  Thine,  O,  Master  dear, 
I  would  begin  and  end  this  fresh  New  Year. 


"HAPPY  NEW  YEAR !" 

Why  this  doleful  wail  of  sadness, 

Every  year? 
Undertoning  all  our  gladness, 

Every  year? 
Why  at  fleeting  years  so  fretful, 
Of  the  dead  Past  so  regretful, 
Of  the  living  Now  forgetful, 

Every  year? 

Is  not  God  in  wisdom  guiding 

Every  year? 
Though  to  us  His  purpose  hiding, 

Every  year? 


92 


Joy  there  is  for  every  son 
For  each   night  a  bright  to-morrow. 
From    the    Past    fresh    strength    we    borrow, 
Every  year? 

Faith  and  Hope  are  growing  stronger, 

Every  year; 
As  the  trodden  way  grows  longer, 

Every  year. 
Left  behind  the  paths  most  dreary, 
Passed  the  doubts  that  vex  and  weary, 
Brighter  gleams  the  sunshine  cheery, 

Every  year. 

Fewer  cares  and  lighter  burdens, 

Every  year. 
Brighter  hopes  and  truer  guerdons, 

Every  year. 
Earthly  joys  may   fade  forever, 
Earthly  ties  to  friends  may  sever, 
One  there  is  more  dear  than  ever, 

Every  year. 

And  the  Father's  house  is  dearer, 

Every  year; 
And  our  lost  ones  coming  nearer, 

Every  year; 
Less  is  there  below  to  charm  us, 
Less  in  "growing  old"  to  harm  us, 
Less  does  the  unknown   alarm  us 

Every  year. 

Let  us  then  cease  such  repining, 

Every  year, 
And  believe  the  Love  o'ershining, 

Every  year. 
Things  that  are  behind   forgetting, 
Onward  press  without  regretting, 
To  the  morn  that  knows  no  setting, 

Blest  New  Year! 

93 


BIRTHDAY  VERSES. 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee,  my  child, 

What  shall  1  ask  for  thee? 
A  birthday  gift  of  gold  most  rare, 
Some  costly  treasure,  rich  and  fair, 

To  fill  thy  heart  with  glee? 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee,  my  child, 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee? 
Shall  I  ask  that  beauty's  charms  be  thine, 
So  mid  the  gay  thou'lt  gayly  shine, 

The  brightest  star  to  be? 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee,  my  child, 

What  shall  I  ask  for  thee? 
That  fortune  may  her  gifts  bestow, 
That  thou  no  want  or  care  may  know, 

No  earthly  sorrow  see? 

Not  these  I  ask  for  thee,  my  child, 

Not  these  I  ask  for  thee; 
A  better  birthday  wish  is  mine — 
'Tis  that  the  best  of  gifts  be  thine, 

A  heart  from  sin  made  free. 

A  heart  of  love  to  Him  who  died 

On  Calvary's  cruel  tree; 
A  clean  white  robe  of  grace  to  wear, 
The   Saviour's  lovely  image  bear; 

'Tis  this  I  ask  for  thee. 

Yes,  this  I  ask  for  thee,  my  child, 

This  good  I  ask  for  thee: 
The  pearl  of  greatest  price  to  own, 
A  child  of  Jesus  to  be  known, 

And  Heaven  thy  home  to  be. 


94 


ON  TAKING  DOWN  THE  CHRISTMAS 
GREENS. 

Take  down  the  faded  wreaths, 

Untwine  the  garlands  gay, 
Though   the   glad   time   we   hung   them   up 

Seems  but  as  yesterday. 
And  from  their  crumbling  leaves 

We  still  can  almost  hear 
The  echoes  of  the  Carols  sweet 

And  Greetings  of  New   Year. 

But  ah!    full   well  we  know 

The  festive  season's  o'er; 
And  treading  in  life's  dusty  ways 

We  find  ourselves  once  more. 
Swifter  than  wheels  of  steam 

The  golden  hours  have  rolled; 
And  while  we  dreamed  the  year  was  young, 

We  wake  to  find  it  old. 

Now  clear  above  the  din 

Of  daily  toil  and  care, 
We  hear  again  in  solemn  tones 

The  Lenten  call  to  prayer; 
Bidding  us   turn   from   pleasure's  round, 

A  higher  joy  to  find 
In  fellowship  with  Him  whose  death 

Gave  life  to  all  mankind. 

Thus  do  the  years  go  on, 

And  times  and  seasons  glide, 
Till  soon  the  story  of  our  life 

Is  closed  and  laid  aside. 
Ah!  Life's  a  mystic  page! 

In  vain  we  strive  to  scan 
The  hidden  thought  between  the  lines — 

God's  purposes  to  man. 

95 


NIGHT. 

Thank  God  for  night!   I  say, 
As  weary  with  the  toils  of  day 

And  turmoils  of  the  light, 
I  draw  the  curtains  of  my  bed, 
And  pillowing  my  aching  head, 

Thank  God  for  night. 

Night!    Time  of  rest  so  rare, 

From  earth's  perplexing  thought  and  care. 

Respite  from  sound  and  sight; 
As  deepening  shadows  softly  fall, 
A  holy  silence  broods  o'er  all, 

And  it  is  night. 

The  strife  of  tongues,  the  city's  din, 
The  sight  of  toiling,  tired  men, 

Go  with  the  glaring  light; 
And  quiet  comes  mid  softer  gleams, 
Wooing  the  soul  to  peaceful  dreams — 

Thank  God  for  night! 

So  when  Life's  cares  are  past, 

And  Death's  deep  shade  is  on  us  cast, 

May  we  in  calm  delight 
Look  up  with  cheerful  faith  and  say, 
"Farewell  to  Earth's  long,  dreary  day, 

Thank  God  for  night!" 


TRUE  WORSHIP. 
A  Bummer  Reverie. 

Not  in  cathedral  dim  nor  temple  grand, 

Where  gay-robed  throngs  with  seeming  rev'rence  meet, 

And  studied  eloquence  in  silver  tones 

Proclaims  the  truth  that  Christ  so  simply  spake, 

Is  truest  worship  found;  for  here,  alas! 

Is  outward  show  and   circumstance,   and   thought 

Of  man,  and  the  poor  heart,  diverted,  seeks 

96 


Some  other  shrine,  and  bows  too  oft  to  gods 
Of  earthly  mould.     The  words  of  Gospel  grai 
Fall  on  the  ear  like  echoes  from  alar, 
Which  give  no  certain  sound,  but  idly  die. 

God  is  a  Spirit,  and  His  worshipers 
Must  in  the  spirit  bend  and  give  Him  all 
Their  thought — rising  aloft  on  wings  of  prayer 
Till  Earth  with  its  vain  show  of  human  pride 
Seems  but  a  speck  of  glittering  dust  below. 
Let  him  who  thus  would  worship  seek  alone 
The  forest  shade  where  living  arches  ring 
With  purest  song,  and  every  sight  and  sound 
Whispers  of  God.     Or  mid  the  "templed  hills" 
Go  forth  when  Summer  crowns  them  all 
With   touches   visible  of  the   dear  Hand 
You  fain  would  clasp.     Or  on  a  cloudless  night 
Gaze  upward  to  the  star-gemmed  depths  of  blue, 
And  think  how  worlds  on  worlds  are  piled,  and  each 
Its  order  keeps,  until  the  mind,  absorbed, 
Forgets    itself,   outborne   and   overborne 
Upon  Infinity,  whose  name  is  God. 

Oh!   it  is  when  the  longing  soul  lies  close 
To  Nature,  heart  to  heart,  throwing  aside 
Enwrapping  care  and  toil,  as  tired  child 
Its  cumb'ring  robes  at  night,  feeling  the  throb 
Of  fair  Creation's  pulse,  so  full  of  life 
From  the  eternal  Fount,  and  listening  catch 
Her  praiseful  intonations,  sweeter  far 
Than  organ's  swell  or  voice  of  cultured  choir, 
It  worships  best.     Then  self  is  out  of  sight, 
And  sense  in  holy  adoration  lost, 
The  spirit,  only,  lives  and  moves  and  loves 
In  the  most  loving,  ever  living  One! 
God  in  His  handiwork  is  near — so  near 
You  feel  His  Presence,  almost  think  you  hear 
His  footfall  close  beside  you,  and  His  voice, 
So  grand,  yet  tender,  saying,  "Child,  be  still 
And  rest,  for  rest  is  worshipful,  and  trust 
Is  praise!" 

97 


Ah!   this  is  most  like  Heaven — most  like 
Angelic  worship!     One  such  silent  hour 
Of  soul-communion  mid  the  groves  and   hills 
Is  worth  a  thousand  spent  in  utterance  vain 
Of  wordy  praise  with  crowds  in  stately  courts, 
Where  famished  souls  too  often  inly  sigh 
And  seek  for  God,  yet  empty  turn  away. 


OCCASIONAL 


A  HYMN  OF  PRAISE. 

Written  for  the   Centennial  of  the  First   Presbyterian 
Church  of  Morristoiv-n,  N.  J.,  Oct.  1',,  1891. 

[To  be  read,  rather  than  sung.] 

God  of  the  ages!  Thou  whose  thought 

The  universe  from  chaos  brought, 
To  whose  supreme,  unbounded  view 
There's   nothing   old,   there's   nothing  new; 
We,  creatures  of  a  day,  would  raise 
Our  humble  tribute  to  Thy  praise. 

We  praise  Thee  for  the  wondrous  grace 

That  gives  to  man  the  highest  place — 
As  "sons  of  God"  on  earth  to  be, 
Joined  in  a  glorious  family; 
Above,    below,   Thy  church   is  one, 
In  fellowship  with  Christ  the  Son. 

For   special    providential   care — 
A  Century  of  blessings  rare — 
To  this  vine  of  Thy  planting  willed; 
A  bow  of  promises  fulfilled, 

Spanning  from  past  to  present  days, 
God   of  our   fathers!      Thee   we  praise! 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  patriot  sires 

Who  through  a  Revolution's  fires 
Stood  firm  on  Truth  and  Freedom's  side, 
And  ere  war's  smouldering  embers  died, 
With  self-denying  zeal  and  thought, 
This  goodly  temple  planned  and  wrought. 

Thanks  that  its  sturdy  frame's  withstood 

A  Century  of  storm  and  flood; 
And  year  by  year  the  patient  bell 

Has  pealed  its  Sabbath  message  well. 
i       God  grant  that  church  and  bell  may  still 
Their  sacred  mission  long  fulfill! 

101 


Thanks  for  the  saintly  men  of  yore, 

Who  meekly  the  church  burdens  bore; 
Whose  voices  oft  have  thrilled  this  air 
In  tuneful  song  and  fervent  prayer. 
In  courts  above  we  see  them  bend, 
Their  purer  praise  with  ours  to  blend. 

Thanks  for  the  saintly  women,  too, 

Who  graced  as  well  each  ancient  pew; 
In  work  and  worship  glad  to  share, 
Joining  in  song,  if  not  in  prayer. 
The  mothers  of  the  past!  whose  lives 
In  children's  children  still  survive. 

We  thank  Thee,  here  no  doubtful  word 

Of  faith  or  doctrine  ere  was  heard; 
This  pulpit  has  from  first  to  last 
To  God's  inspired  word  held  fast; 
Loyal  to  church  and  creed,  unmoved 
By  critic's  strife  o'er  faults  unproved. 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  showers  of  grace 

That  have  so  often  filled  this  place, 
When  by  the  Spirit's  power  led 
Souls  have  by  scores  to  Jesus  fled, 
And  at  His  table  Him  confessed, 
Ent'ring  with  joy,  His  service  blest. 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  record  bright 
That  this  has  been  no  hidden  light; 
But  far  and  near  its  saving  glow, 

Has  helped  the  nations  Christ  to  know; 
One  with  their  Head,  this  people's  care, 
His  cross  to  lift,  His  cause  to  share. 

For  covenant  blessings  manifold, 

For  precious  memories  yet  untold, 
For  peace  on  earth  and  hope  of  heaven, 
That  through  the  years  Thy  love  has  given 
To  generations  past  and  now, — 
With  praise  before  Thy  throne  we  bow. 

102 


Let  all  who  in  this  Zion  dwell, 

In  grateful  strains  the  chorus  swell; 
Young  men  and  maidens,  fair  and  strong, 
Old  men  and  children  join  the  song. 
In  this  Centennial  praise  unite, 
To  God,  our  God,  of  love  and  might 


L'ENVOI. 

A  Farewell   to   a  dear  young  friend  about  to  sail  for 
India,  as  a  Missionary. 

Forth  from  the  sheltering  cote  the  carrier  dove — 
Guided  by  wondrous  inner  light — 
To  lands  afar  wings  its  brave  flight, 

Bearing  its  messages  of  peace  and  love. 

So  from  the  dear  home  nest  where  fondest  love 
Hath  nurtured  well  to  strength  of  wing — 
Moved  by  an  inward  whispering — 

Full  fledged  now  speeds  away  our  gentle  dove. 

The  King's  command  not  all  in  vain  is  heard — 
"Go  teach  all  nations  in  My  name, 
My  matchless  grace  to  man,  proclaim" — 

With  quick  response  her  willing  soul  is  stirred. 

And  far  away  to  "India's  coral  strand," 
Where  hungry  millions  watch  and  wait 
The  Bread  of  Life  which  comes  so  late, 

She  hastes  to  bear  Christ's  message  to  that  land. 

With  but  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind 
On  what  is  left — her  loved,  her  own — 
To  work  untried,  to  fields  unknown, 

She  takes  her  flight,  joy  in  a  cross  to  find. 

And  we — regretful — while  our  hearts  still  swell 
With  grateful  joy  that  one  so  dear 
Has  heard  the  Master's  voice  so  clear, 

And  yielded  sweet  assent,  must  say  Farewell! 

103 


Yet  we  shall  go  with  her,  our  prayers  shall  be 

A  loving  presence  all  the  way, 

A  glow  by  night,  a  shade  by  day, 
For  sure  defence  and  guide  o'er  land  and  sea. 

God  bless  our  carrier  dove  so  true  and  brave! 

May  Angel  wings  sustain  her  flight. 

Ruler  of  all!  by  Thine  own  might 
Hold  back  the  stormy  wind,  calm  the  rough  wave 

That  only  prospering  breeze  and  gentle  swell 
May  safely  speed  o'er  ocean's  crest, 
To  the  far  shore — the  new  home-nest — 

Earth,  air  and  sea,  O  guard  our  treasure  well! 

And  when  before  her  chosen  work  at  length 

She  stands  o'erwhelmed  with  fear 

Of  failure,  Lord,  be  ever  near; 
Let  "I  am  with  thee  alway,"  be  her  strength. 

Give  nerve  and  courage  tasks  to  undertake, 

And  untold  misery  to  face — 

Faith  to  present  God's  equal  grace 
For  every  need— and  all  for  Christ's  dear  sake. 

And  grant,  O  Lord!   the  promised  "hundredfold* 

Of  joy  and  blessing  in  this  life 

To  her  and  her's,  as  mid  the  strife 
Of  good  with  ill  Thy  Cross  they  shall  uphold. 

Then  when  the  way  grows  weary,  and  above 
All  toil  is  heard  the  call  to  rest, 
Safe  to  the  shelter  of  her  early  nest, 

To  waiting  hearts  bring  back  our  carrier  dove. 

"MIZPAH." 
At  sea. 
The  farewell  word  at  last  is  spoken; 
Dear  home-links  one  by  one  are  broken; 
The  best  loved  shore  from  sight  is  fading 
With  dimness  tearful  faces  shading. 

104 


Over  the  bounding  wave  we  go 
Out  of  the  reach  of  ice  and  snow; 
Yet  never  warmer  hearts  to  find 
Than  those  so  sadly  left  behind; 
They  on  the  land,  I  on  the  sea, 
Watch,  Lord,  between  them  all  and  me. 

Kindred  and  friends!   to  you  still  clinging, 
Backward  my  soul  its  flight  is  winging; 
Ah!   can  these  rolling  billows  sever 
Hearts  linked  in  Love's  bright  circlet?  Neve; ! 
Though  far  away  awhile  to  dwell, 
Oft  shall  I  speed  to  scenes  loved  well. 
Many  a  saddening  change  may  come, 
Ere  I  shall  hear  the  "Welcome  home"; 
But  I  can  only  trust  in  Thee, 
Watch,  Lord,  between  my  friends  and  me. 

The  church  we  love,  Lord,  I  commend  it 
To  Thy  rich  grace;  from  ill  defend  it; 
And  the  dear  flock,  our  Sabbath  treasure, 
Care  for  them  all  in  Thy  good  pleasure. 
Keep  the  little  ones  in  the  fold, 
Shelter  them  safe  from  want  and  cold; 
Let  them  from  week  to  wreek  be  fed 
With  crumbs  of  everlasting  bread. 
While  I  am  absent  on  land  or  sea, 
Watch,  Lord,  between  my  class  and  me. 


OUR  MANSE. 

It  stands  in  finished  beauty;  broad  and  firm 

Are  its  foundations,  strong  its  stately  walls — 

As  fitted  to  endure  through  coming  years 

A  monument  of  Christian  faith  and  zeal. 

Within,  the  tinted  light  falls  cheerily 

O'er  graceful  arch  and  polished  floor,  and  through 

The  well  appointed  rooms  like  rainbow  hues 

105 


Of  promise,  betokening  peace  and  joy — 
A  fitting  home  of  rest  for  him  who  serves 
This  ancient  church  of  God. 

But  ah!  to  us 
Who  hopefully  have  watched  its  rise  and  end, 
Above  it  rests  a  cloud — bright  edged,  'tis  true, — 
For  all  God's  hidden  ways  are  just  and  Kind — 
But  dark  with  disappointment  and  surcharged 
With  bitter  grief.    The  gentle  presence  which 
We  fondly  hoped  would  grace  the  finished  home 
Is  missing  there — the  heart  of  home  is  gone — 
Gone  to  a  better  dwelling,  this  we  know, 
A  mansion  far  more  fair;  'tis  not  for  her 
We  mourn,  'tis  for  ourselves  alone.    And  now 
The  shadow  deepens  as  again  the  wing 
Of  the  death-angel  broods  this  time  above 
The  cradle  of  the  home — the  household  shrine 
Where  stricken  hearts  find  hope  and  comfort  sweet 
In  loving  homage.    Soon  the  baby-tones 
Are  hushed — the  shrine  is  broken  and  fond  arms 
Are  empty  as  the  happy  little  soul 
Leaps  to  the  new-found  mother's  clinging  clasp, 
And  the  sweet  waxen  form  is  laid  to  sleep 
Among  the  summer  flowers. 

Once  more  alone 
The  smitten  one  gives  meekly  back  to  God 
The  precious  legacy  of  love  and  cheer, 
And  mutely  bows  beneath  the  added  stroke. 
Oh  mystery  supreme!     We  vainly  ask 
What  does  it  mean?  Then  make  reply  "God  knows." 

Thus  has  our  beauteous  Manse  been  sanctified. 
'Twill  ever  be  a  consecrated  place, 
Hallowed  by  tender  memories,  baptized 
In  sacred  tears,  and  linked  in  holiest  thought 
With  Heaven  and  white-robed  angel-hood  above. 


106 


AFTER  A  SABBATH-SCHOOL  CONVEN- 
TION. 

Echoes  float  around  us, 

Waves  of  mingled  sound; 
Holy  deep  vibrations 

In  our  hearts  abound 
Strains  of  earnest  music, 

Words  of  Christian  cheer, 
Thoughts  that  nerve  to  action 

Linger  in  our  ear. 

Thanks  to  the  "sweet  Singer," 

For  his  feast  of  song — 
Pure  harmonic  gospel, 

Truth  to  treasure  long — 
Still  the  stirring  carol 

Trembles  on  the  air, 
"If  you  want  a  mission 

Find  it  anywhere." 

And  we  sit  and  listen, 

Dreading  lest  the  spell 
Shall  be  rudely  broken 

By  stern  Duty's  bell 
Calling  us,  reluctant, 

From  the  mount  away 
To  lowly  paths  of  labor, 

To  toil  and  watch  and  pray. 

Not  in  vain  we  listen 

The  repeating  strain; 
Faith  and  Hope  grow  brighter, 

Taking  heart  again, 
We  will  lift  our  burden 

With  a  stronger  hand, 
Looking  unto  Jesus, 

Following  His  command. 

107 


Oh,  the  joy  of  living 

In  this  world  of  sin 
With  so  high  a  mission 

Precious  souls  to  win! 
With  a  full  salvation 

Meeting  every  need, 
And  such  a  loving  Master, 

Oh  'tis  joy  indeed! 

What  a  blissful  union 

Kindred  spirits  know, 
As  in  sweet  communion 

Thought  and  feeling  flow; 
One  in  Jesus  ever, 

One   in   doing  good, 
In  faith  and  deed  forever 

A  Christian  brotherhood!  , 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMN   FOR  AN  ORPHAN 
ASYLUM. 

Once  more  old  Time  with  swift  and  steady  flight 
Has  brought  around  our  Anniversary  night; 
In  health  and  happiness  again  we  meet, 
And  all  our  friends  and  patrons  gladly  greet. 

Thanks  to  "Our  Father"  in  our  hearts  abound — 
For  countless  blessings  the  past  year  have  crowned- 
He  who  the  sparrow  feeds  has  ne'er  forgot 
The  lonely  orphan  in  his  hapless  lot. 

No  more  in  want  of  weariness  we  roam; 
Through  His  rich  bounty  we  have  found  a  home. 
From  Summer's  sultry  heat  and  Winter's  cold 
We're  safely  sheltered  in  our  pleasant  fold. 

The  harvest's  past,  the  reaper's  work  is  done, 
The  flowers  are  withered  and  the  birds  are  gone; 
Still  Spring  is  ours,  e'en  mid  the  tempest's  strife, 
For  sympathy  is  sunshine,  love  is  life. 

108 


We  come  to-night  to  tell  you  if  we  may 
What  we  have  learned  since  our  last  festive  day: 
No  tones  of  eloquence,  we  strive  to  reach, 
But  simple  strains  of  music  and  of  speech. 

We  ask  you  then  to  lend  a  listening  ear 
And  overlook  all  faults  that  may  appear. 
May  Heaven's  benediction  on  us  fall — 
God  bless  our  orphan-band,  and  bless  you  all. 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMN  FOR  A  SABBATH 
SCHOOL. 

Spared  once  more  to  meet  together 

On  this  annual  festive  day, 
Let  us  come  with  hearts  of  gladness 

And  a  thankful  lay. 

While  the  earth  is  crowned  writh  beauty, — 
Treading  on  bright  Autumn  leaves, — 

We  will  haste  from  vale  and  hillside, 
Bringing  in  our  sheaves. 

Through  the  year  that's  past  we've  labored 

For  the  needy  as  we  could; 
And  have  learned  we're  ne'er  so  happy 

As  when  doing  good. 

Thankfully  we  bring  our  offering 
Treasured  from  our  humble  store, 

Gladly  send  it  on  its  mission, 
Wishing  it  were  more. 

Mindful  of  the  greater  blessing 
Our  dear  Saviour's  love  has  given — 

Teachers  and  the  blessed  Bible 
Pointing  us  to  Heaven. 

109 


CHILDREN'S  HYMNS. 

Written  for  the  Rev.  E.  P.  H.  during  a  season  of 
religious  interest, —  the  same  which  suggested  the  hymn, 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth:' 

INVITATION. 

Oh  happy  day,  blest  day  of  grace! 
When  Jesus  shows  His  smiling  face, 
And  bids  the  weary  wanderer  come 
And  find  in  Him  sweet  rest,  a  home. 
The  Cross,  uplifted,  draws  us  near, 
The  Spirit  whispers  words  of  cheer, 
And  waits  repenting  souls  to  bless 
In  this  glad  day,  this  day  of  grace! 

Then  hasten  all  who  feel  your  need, 
From  sin's  dread  burden  to  be  freed; 
To  Calvary's  Victim  look  and  live, 
He  only  can  salvation  give. 
Long  have  you  pleasure  sought  in  vain, 
And  found  but  weariness  and  pain; 
Oh  come,  your  sinful  steps  retrace, 
Improve  this  blessed  day  of  grace. 

Now  listen  to  the  Gospel's  sound, 
Seek  Jesus  while  He  may  be  found; 
In  Him  the  Father,  reconciled, 
Will  own  and  bless  you  as  His  child. 
Oh,  will  you  longer  slight  His  love, 
And  grieve  away  the  Heavenly  Dove? 
Refuse  the  Saviour  to  embrace, 
And  perish  in  this  day  of  grace? 

Forbid  it  Lord!    Thy  power  display 
And  draw  these  lingering  souls  to-day; 
Convince  of  sin,  Thy  grace  impart 
To  cleanse  and  sanctify  che  heart. 
May  many  hear  Thy  gracious  voice, 
And  in  Thy  pardoning  love  rejoice, 
Who  in  eternity  shall  praise 
Thee  for  this  blessed  day  of  grace. 

110 


PRAISE  AND  CONSECRATION. 

Come  ye  children,  sweetly  sing 
Praises  to  your  Saviour  King. 
Hearts  and  voices  gladly  bring 
To  praise  His  name. 

Jesus  is  the  children's  Friend, 
Loving,  faithful  to  the  end. 
Richest  gifts  from  Him  descend — 
Joy  and  peace. 

Once  from  Heaven  to  earth  He  came, 
Suffered  pain,  contempt  and  blame, 
Died  upon  a  Cross  of  shame 
Crowned  with  thorns. 

'Twas  our  sinful  souls  to  save, 
Thus  His  precious  life  He  gave; 
Ransomed  now  from  sin's  dark  grave, 
We  may  sing. 

Blessed  Jesus,  loving,  kind, 
Thee  we'd  early  seek  and  find, 
And  our  souls  in  cov'nant  bind 
Thine  to  be. 

For  our  sins  we  deeply  grieve, 
But  Thy  promise  we  believe — 
•'Him  that  cometh  I  receive," 
Lord  we  come. 


REJOICING  IN  JESUS. 

I  have  found  a  precious  Saviour, 
He  has  washed  my  sins  away; 

Now  rejoicing  in  His  favor, 
I  am  happy  all  the  day. 

Sweetest  joy  my  heart  is  swelling- 
Joy  the  world  can  never  give — 

While  in  simple  strains  I'm  telling 
How  He  made  my  spirit  live. 

Ill 


Lost  in  sin  I  wandered  weary, 
Far  from  Jesus,  far  from  Home, 

Till  He  came  In  love  to  cheer  me, 
Gently  calling  "Wanderer,  come." 

Pardon  full  and  free  He  offered, 

Showed  His  bleeding  hands  and  side; 

Told  me  how  for  me  He  suffered, 
For  my  sin  was  crucified. 

Then  my  heart  with  thanks  o'erflowing 
Yielded  to  His  gracious  call — 

At  His  feet  in  sorrow  bowing, 
Gave  to  Him  my  life,  my  all. 

Now  I'm  His,  yes  His  forever! 

Safe  within  His  peaceful  Fold. 
Jesus'  lambs  can  perish  never, 

Love  like  His  can  ne'er  grow  cold. 


WORKING  FOR  JESUS. 
Tune — "Speaking  for  Jesus."  (7  want  to  be  an  Angel.) 

We  all  must  work  for  Jesus, 

Who  died  our  souls  to  save, 
Who  by  His  blood  redeems  us 

From  sin's  eternal  grave. 
Bought  with  a  price  so  precious, 

A  debt  we  ne'er  can  pay, 
Shall  we  with  buried  talents, 

Stand  idle  all  the  day? 

No,  we  must  work  for  Jesus, 

With  thankful,  loving  hearts; 
Though  hard  the  toil,  He  aids  us, 

And  needful  grace  imparts. 
His  cause  is  ours,  and  gives  us 

A  work  for  every  one; 
The  oldest  and  the  youngest 

May  help  its  glory  on. 

112 


We  all  must  work  for  Jesus, 

Oh!   list   His  earnest  call, 
"Go  forth   into  .My   vineyard 

And  labor  one  and  all. 
The  field  is  wide,  the  harvest 

White  with  the  ripening  gram, 
But  waits  the  faithful  reaper, 

Who  shall  not  toil  in  vain." 

Then  let  us  work  for  Jesus, 

Nor  think  of  resting  here, 
Though  ofttimes  weak  and  weary, 

Toil  on,  with  faith  and  prayer. 
Work  for  the  poor  and  friendless, 

The  sad,  the  erring  one, 
And  at  the  last  with  joy  we'll  hear 

Our  Saviour  say,  "Well  done!" 


"I'LL  WATCH  FOR  YOU  ALL." 
(The  dying  words  of  a  little  Christian  boy.) 

"Don't  grieve  for  me,  dear  mother, 
Let  not  a  tear  fall, 
Dear  father,  sister,  brother, 
I'll  watch  for  you  all. 

"To  a  better  home  I'm  hasting; 

There  at  the  pearly  gate, 
Mid    pleasures    everlasting, 

Most  lovingly  I'll  wait, 
Till  through  the  open  portal 

You  one  by  one  shall  come, 
To  share  in  joys  immortal 

In  our  eternal  Home. 

"I'm  not  afraid,  dear  mother, 
To  tread  the  valley  dim; 
v        Jesus,  my  elder  brother, 

Will  keep  me  close  to  Him. 


113 


I've  sought  His  grace  and  favor, 
He  heard  my  early  vow, 

And  I  am  sure  my  Saviour 
Will  not  desert  me  now. 

'I  see  the  angels  coming! 

They're  coming  now  for  me — 
I  hear  their  voices  humming 

Sweet  strains  of  melody. 
Farewell!  they're  coming  nearer — 

Yes  take  me,  take  me  home. 
Dear  loved  ones,  never  dearer, 

Farewell — Jesus,  I  come! 

"Don't  grieve  for  me,  dear  mother, 

Let  not  a  tear  fall, 
Dear  father,  sister,  brother, 

I'll  watch  for  you  all." 


THE  INVALID'S  COMFORT. 
{Dedicated  to  Chloe  Lankton.) 

How  wondrous,  Lord,  how  deep,  how  high 

Must  be  Thy  love  to  me! 
Since  whom  Thou  lovest  best  is  sure 

Most  chast'ning  here  to  see. 

From  youth  to  age  my  life  has  been 

A  painful  mystery: 
The  joys  that  others  hold  so  dear 

Thou  hast  denied  to  me. 

From  morn  till  night,  from  night  to  morn, 

Helpless,  alone  I  lie; 
In  hopeless  suff'ring  count  the  hours, 

And  see  the  years  go  by. 

One  after  one,  my  heart's  best  friends 

Have  vanished  from  my  sight, 
Until  Thy  presence  only,  Lord, 

Is  left  to  make  earth  bright. 

114 


Aiy  mortal  vision  cannot  read 

This  lifelong  mystery; 
But  when  Heaven's  sunlight  dawns  I  shall 

Its  hidden  meaning  see. 

Doubtless  Thou  art  my  Father,  though 

To  all  the  world  unknown; 
Thine  ear  attends  my  softest  sigh, 

And  hears  my  faintest  moan. 

In  the  night  watches  oft  I  wake 

While  all  around  me  sleep; 
Then  oh,  how  sweet  to  know  Thine  eye 

A  loving  guard  doth  keep. 

Thou  art  my  Father!  precious  thought! 

My  Saviour,  Helper,  Friend! 
And  having  loved  Thine  own  thus  far, 

Wilt  love  me  to  the  end. 

The  end!  oh  wrhy  so  long  delayed — 

The  end  of  pain  and  strife? 
When  will  Thine  angels  come,  dear  Lord, 

To  bring  me  unto  life? 

These  weary,  waiting  days  of  pain 

Can  scarce  existence  give; 
But  when  immortal  strength  is  mine, 

I  shall  begin  to  live. 

0  blissful  hour!  when  loosed  these  bonds 
Of  long  infirmity, 

1  shall  in  Christ's  own  likeness  walk 
To  all  eternity! 


115 


MISCELLANEOUS 


CHRISTMAS  IN  THE  ARCTIC  REGIONS. 
"Kane's  Arctic  Explorations"     Vol.  1,  p.  445. 

Twas  Christmas  morn,  but  no  sun's  ray 

Dawned  with  its  gladsome  light; 
For  while  in  Summer  lands  'twas  day, 

Here  it  was  dismal  night — 
A  night  whose  banner  long  unfurled 
Wrapped  in  its  sombre  folds  this  Arctic  world. 

The  stars  their  gentle  radiance  gave, 

The  moon  its  pallid  beams, 
To  sparkle  o'er  the  frosted  wave 

With  cheering  silver  gleams; 
While  Alps  on  Alps  of  crystal  cliffs, 
Like  jeweled  sentinels,  their  heads  uplift 

The  scene  was  fairy-like  and  grand — 

But  ah!  too  strangely  still; 
Too  cold  to  lure  the  mystic  band 

From  flowery  vale  and  hill. 
For  here  the  Ice  King  holds  his  sway, 
And  spirits  weird  his  tyrant  will  obey. 

A  worn,  dismantled  vessel  lay 

Upon  the  frozen  strand — 
The  drear  abode  by  night  and  day 

Of  a  heroic  band 
Self-exiled  from  their  homes  to  save 
A  lomg-lost  wanderer  from  an  icy  grave. 

No  holly  branch,  no  ivy  wreath 

Adorns  their  dreary  cell, 
No  ruddy  fires  with  kindly  breath 

Of  homelike  comforts  tell; 
No  joyous  "Merry  Christmas"  chime 
Recalls  the  well-remembered  olden  time. 

119 


No  dainty  viands  grace  their  board, 

No  happy  voices  greet; 
With  joy  to  share  their  scanty  hoard 

No  circling  loved  ones  meet — 
Mid  stillness,  solitude  and  dearth 
They  hail  the  day  that  brought  good  news  to  earth. 

But  oh!  the  power  of  human  will 

To  conquer  human  care — 
The  mind  immortal  rises  still 

Buoyant  amid  despair — 
Nor  cold,  nor  want,  nor  darkness  drear 
Can  make  these  dauntless  spirits  yield  to  fear. 

In  merriment  and  pleasant  jest 

They  pass  the  festal  day; 
While  tender  thoughts  filled  every  breast 

Of  home  scenes  far  away; 
Where  loving  hearts  their  absence  mourn, 
And  prayers  for  their  return  are  heavenward  bornec 

We  welcome  back  from  Polar  snows 

These  brave,  heroic  men, 
To  friendship  sweet,  to  Christian  joys 

And  social  life  again. 
Now  gathered  in  home  circles  dear 
May  they  enjoy  the  "Merry  Christmas"  cheer. 

Give  to  the  Hero  of  the  North 

A  niche  in  Glory's  fane; 
Let  poets  celebrate  the  worth 

Of  our  own  noble  Kane! 
And  history  record  his  name 
Crowned  with  undying  wreaths  of  Fame. 


120 


"LOST  CHILD." 

"Lost!   lost!   lost!" 

List  to  the  bellman's  chime; 
As  it  thrills  on  the  ear  with  a  startling  sound, 

Just  at  the  evening  time. 

"A  little  fair-haired  child, 

And  only  four  years  old," 
Has  wandered  afar  in  its  childish  glee, 

Away  from  the  parent  fold. 

Who  can  the  anguish  tell, 

The  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
As  the  mother  waits  in  the  desolate  home 

Her  darling's  voice  to  hear? 

Sad,  sad,  sad, 

The  sound  of  the  bellman's  chime, 
As  it  rings  through  the  busy,  crowded  street 

Just  at  the  evening  time. 

But  sadder,  sadder  still 

The  cry  of  deeper  woe 
Which  comes  from  so  many  childish  hearts 

That  no  earthly  comfort  know. 

Tis  heard  in  the  crowded  street, 

Mid  the  city's  strife  and  din, 
Where  little  ones  wander  with  weary  feet, 

Lost  in  the  ways  of  sin; 

Lost  to  the  voice  of  love, 

To  virtue's  lessons  dear; 
Lost  to  the  hope  of  a  home  above, 

Shadowed  by  want  and  fear. 

Joy!  joy!  joy! 

That  some  of  the  lost  are  found 
And  gathered  in  homes  where  love's  sweet  spell 
Their  hapless  lives  surround. 
But  oh,  for  the  many  more 
Who  stumble  in  darkness  Still, 

121 


Whose  "daily  Dread"  Is  the  pitiful  crust 

Of  charity's  fitful  will. 

Jesus,  whose  pitying  eyes 

These  wandering  lambs  behold, 
Oh  gather  them  all  in  their  childhood's  day 

Into  Thine  own  sweet  fold. 


TO  THE  KATYDID. 

Where  are  you,  little  Katydid? 

I  hear  your  funny  song: 
So  safe  among  the  bushes  hid, 

Do  you  sing  all  night  long? 

I  wonder  if  you're  never  tired 

Of  chirping  nothing  new. 
If  I  were  you,  I'd  try  for  once 

To  change  a  note  or  two. 

They  say  you  are  a  prophet-bird; 

Your  voice  must  not  be  lost, 
Since  your  first  note  foretells  the  fact, 

In  six  weeks  we'll  have  frost. 

But,  Katy,  it  does  seem  to  me 

You  rather  loudly  sing; 
You  surely  make  too  great  a  noise 

For  such  a  little  thing: 

For  don't  you  know  big  people  say, 
And  we  must  mind  their  word, 

That  young  folks  should,  like  you  and  me, 
Be  seen,  not  often  heard? 

Now  "Katy  did,"  then  "Katy  didn't"— 

'Tis  very  sad  to  see 
That  children  of  one  family 

Will  sometimes  disagree. 

122 


Don't  quarrel,  Katy;  try  to  sing 

A  little  gentler  song, 
For  mother  tells  me,  Katy,  dear, 

To   contradict    is  wrong. 

But  then  I  don't  suppose  you  mean 

To  be  unkind  a  bit; 
I  know  you're  never  rude  or  cross, 

It  only  sounds  like  it. 

God  made  you,  Katy,  thus  to  sing, 
He  knows  the  reason  why; 

The  little  while  He  lets  you  live, 
You  work,  then  humbly  die. 

So  ought  1  to  fulfill  my  part, 

What  I  am  made  to  do; 
Through  all  the  life  God  gives  me,  be 

An  earnest  worker  too. 


"FORT  SUMTER." 

Ring  loud  the  merry  bells,  let  pealing  cannon 
Sound  o'er  Columbia's  land  from  sea  to  sea! 

Fling  out  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  our  glorious  banner, 
With  a  united  shout  of  victory! 

Sumter  is  ours!  our  flag  again  is  waving 
In  triumph  o'er  its  battered  battlements, 

The  very  flag  which  traitors,  madly  scorning, 
Sought  to  deface  with  treason's  shameful  rents. 

Through  years  of  direful  strife  and  bitter  mourning, 
Since  Sumter's  hero  pined  within  its  gate, 

The  nation's  heart  has  throbbed  with  restless  yearning, 
Insulted  honor  here  to  vindicate. 

To-day,  as  patriot  hearts  are  met  recalling, 
With  grateful  memories,  our  country's  sire, 

The  joyful  news  from  East  to  West  is  flashing, 
The  nation's  faith  and  courage  to  inspire. 

123 


With  Sumter's  fall,  we  trust  we  see  the  dawning 
Of  brighter  skies  o'er  our  beclouded  land — 

When  States  cemented,  brotherhood  reclaiming, 
In  Peace  and  Freedom  shall  united  stand. 

Then  let  the  shout  of  victory  ascending 
Shake  the  wide  vault  of  heaven  with  its  might! 

While  with  our  joy,  deep  notes  of  praise  are  blending 
To  Him  who  nerved  the  heart  and  led  the  fight. 

Praise  to  our  fathers'  God — the  Just  and  Righteous! 

Whose  arm  omnipotent  has  been  our  stay 
Through  conflicts  stern,  amid  doubt's  dreary  shadows, 

Praise  undivided  be  to  Him  alway! 

February  22,  1865. 


EULOGY  ON  A  TURKEY. 

Slain  for  the  Soldiers'  Thanksgiving  Dinner, 
November  24,  I864. 

High  honor  rests  upon  thy  senseless  head, 

Thou  poor  unfeathered  fowl! 
No  common  cause  has  laid  thee  with  the  dead 

And  hushed  thy  dismal  howl. 

Slain  for  thy  country!    Classic  page  has  said 

Tis  pleasant  thus  to  die. 
Few  of  thy  kind  have  e'er  so  nobly  bled 

For  Truth  and  Liberty! 

Couldst  thou  have  understood  the  mighty  cause 

That  brought  thee  to  thy  death, 
Meekly  wouldst  thou  have  crossed  thy  struggling  claws 

And  yielded  up  thy  breath. 

Thy  weTl-fed  form,  fresh  from  the  corn-stocked  farm 

Shall  yield  meat  rich  and  tender 
To  feed  the  wasted  strength  and  nerve  the  arm 

Of  some  brave  home-defender. 

124 


Our  Soldier  boys!  long  have  they  nobly  fought 

That  Right  might  be  the  winner. 
And  well  do  they  deserve,  with  loving  thought, 

A  good  Thanksgiving  dinner. 

Our  Nation's  hope  and  pride,  God  bless  them  all! 

In  Hospital  or  trenches. 
Give  them  that  courage  true,  whate'er  befall, 

Nor  pain  nor  danger  quenches. 

Yes,  senseless  brute,  a  glorious  death  is  thine! 

A  nobler  destiny 
Than  many  a  man's  who  claims  a  soul  divine, 

Yet  dies  in  infamy. 

Let  traitor-cowards  meanly  "bite  the  dust," — 

Scorning  fair  Glory's  charter — 
But  let  me  nobly  fall,  if  fall  1  must, 

Like  thee  a  blessed  martyr! 


TO  THE  WILD  CARROT. 
(Queen  Anne's  Lace.) 

They  call  you  only  a  worthless  weed, 
And  grudge  you  a  place  to  grow — 

They  plough  up  the  meadow  with  cruel  greed, 
And  ruthlessly  lay  you  low. 

Such  beauty  as  yours  is  far  too  rare 

For  common  eyes  to  see; 
For  search  through  the  gardens  everywhere, 

Your  equal  can  scarcely  be. 

Tis  only  the  souls  with  cultured  sight 

That  own  your  delicate  grace, 
And  freely  accord  your  royal  right 

To  the  name  "Queen  Anne's  Lace." 

So  in  many  a  lowly  human  flower 

God's  hiddem  graces  wait 
The  touch  of  Love  to  reveal  Its  dower 

And  lift  to  its  kingly  state. 

125 


"DON'T  WORRY!" 
Written  for  a  "Don't  Worry"  Club. 

A  new  Philosophy  of  late 
Is  stirring  thought  and  wide  debate; 
With  what  result,  we  wait  to  see. 
This  is  the  wise  philosophy — 
Whatever  comes  from  morn  till  night 
Of  disappointment,  pain  or  fright, 
"Don't  Worry." 

What  if  your  best  laid  schemes  go  wrong— 
The  end  you've  striven  for  so  long 
Eludes  your  grasp — the  hope  so  bright 
Sinks  into  deepest,  darkest  night — 
Or  pain  and  weakness  rack  your  frame 
Till  Life's  a  sigh — yet  all  the  same 
"Don't  Worry." 

Women  by  household  cares  perplexed, 
By  daily  failures,  daily  vexed — 
The  dinner's  spoiled — the  cook  don't  care— 
The  children  fret,  and  guests  are  there. 
Unfinished  tasks  pile  mountain  high 
Till  courage  fails,  despair  is  nigh — 
"Don't  Worry." 

And,  brother  man,  when  stocks  go  down 
Or  rise  and  you  are  not  in  town — 
A  moment  late — the  train  is  lost, 
Which  may  for  you  some  thousands  cost; 
Or  sudden  flame  or  flood  destroy 
The  gain  of  years,  your  manhood's  joy, 
"Don't  Worry." 

"What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured" — 
By  trial  man  becomes  inured — 
This  Life's  a  battle,  at  the  best; 
We  stand  or  fall,  fight  on  or  rest. 
A  cycle  hence  'twill  matter  not 
If  gain  or  loss  is  here  our  lot, 
"Don't  Worry." 

126 


Ah!    'tis  an   easy  thing  to  prcadi — 
But  human  nature's  hard  to  teach. 
The  sting  is  there  beneath  the  smile, 
And  aching  hearts  will  groan  erewhile. 
Ah!  stolid  must  that  being  be 
Who  through  a  mere  philosophy, 
"Don't  Worry." 

Not  reason,  but  a  simple  trust 
In  the  All-Father,  loving,  just;  — 
Who  for  His  children  cares,  and  knows 
Their  need,  so  good  or  ill  bestows, — 
Will  lift  the  soul  to  heights  serene, 
Where  Faith  can  calmly  view  the  scene 
Of  earthly  wrecks — while  in  the  ear 
A  voice  divine  is  whispering  clear 
"Don't  Worry." 


FOR  A  MAY  DAY  CELEBRATION. 
Opening  Piece. 

Dear  friends,  we  gather  here  to-day 

To  crown  with  blossoms  rarest 
One  we  have  chosen  Queen  of  May — 

Our  gentlest  and  our  fairest. 

No  grand  cathedral's  mystic  walls 

Cast  shadows  dim  before  us; 
Our  Minster  is  fair  Nature's  halls, 

With  Heaven's  blue  arches  o'er  us. 

No  glittering  diadem  is  ours 

Our  youthful  Queen  to  offer, 
Only  a  chaplet  of-  fresh  flowers 

Woven  by  hearts  that  love  her. 

Our  sceptre  is  no  jeweled  staff — 

Symbol  of  kingly  power — 
Plucked  from  the  wood  where  sunbeams  laugh, 

Tis  gemmed  with  many  a  flower. 

127 


Emblem  of  her  whose  gentle  sway 
Knows  only  love's  emotion — 

Then  come  and  crown  our  Queen  of  May, 
And  yield  your  heart's  devotion. 


'THE  LAST  SIGH  OF  THE  MOOR." 

[At  the  conquest  of  Granada  by  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella in  1492,  the  Moorish  prince  Abdallah  was  banished 
from  the  kingdom,  and  with  the  royal  family  passed 
out  of  the  city  as  the  conquerors  were  taking  possession 
of  it.  Reaching  a  rocky  eminence  he  paused  and  cast  a 
backward  glance  over  the  land  of  his  pride  and  glory, 
when  his  grief  overcame  his  courage  and  he  burst  into 
tears.  The  scene  of  this  event  is  still  pointed  out  to 
the  tourist  by  the  people  of  the  district,  and  the  rocky 
height  from  which  the  conquered  chief  took  his  sad 
farewell  of  the  princely  abodes  of  his  ancestors  is  com- 
memorated by  the  poetical  name  of  "El  Ultimo  Sospiro 
del  Moro" — Prescott's  History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
Vol.  II.,  p.  99.] 

'Twas  the  hour  of  sunset  and  Day's  parting  ray 
Lingered  faintly  but  fondly  o'er  mountain  and  bay; 
The  clouds  gathered  darkly  in  Heaven's  blue  dome, 
And  shadows  fell  fast  on  the  Saracen's  home. 
The  star  of  Mahomet  which  so  proudly  had  shone 
In  radiant  glory,  undimmed  and  alone, 
Was  setting  in  darkness  no  more  to  arise 
On  the  land  of  Granada  to  gladden  her  skies. 

The  Christian  in  triumph  his  standard  unfurled, 
And  with  shouts  of  delight  from  each  minaret  hurled 
The  Moslem's  loved  crescent  to  glisten  no  more 
In  the  sunlight  of  Spain  as  for  ages  before. 
The  silver  cross  gleams  from  Alhambra's  high  tower, 
The  grateful  "Te  Deum"  is  chanted  with  power; 
The  victors  rejoice  in  their  coveted  prize, 
And  glad  Alleluias  ascend  to  the  skies. 

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And  now  from  the  city  a  sorrowful  band 

Of  exiles  go  forth  from  their  dearly  loved  land; 

And  silently  seek  for  some  desolate  spot 

Where  unseen  they  may  weep  o'er  their  unhappy  lot 

They  pause  at  the  top  of  a  far  rocky  height 

And  turn  with  hearts  bursting  to  take  a  last  sight 

Of  Granada's  fair  palace,  their  ancestor's  throne, 

Her  temples  and  mosques,  now  no  longer  their  own. 

Overcome    with    sad    thoughts    the   proud    Chieftain    is 

bowed, 
And  weeping,  gives  vent  to  his  sorrow  aloud; 
"O  beautiful  city!  in  glory  renowned, 
For  centuries  past  with  magnificence  crowned! 
O  how  art  thou  fallen!    Thy  sons  all  in  vain 
Have  striven  to  save  thee — our  fathers'  domain — 
But  the  Christian  has  conquered — 'twas  Allah's  decree — 
We  bow  to  his  will,  while  we  sorrow  for  thee. 

"No  more  through  thy  halls  shall  resound  the  glad  song, 

No  more  shall  thy  streets  to  our  children  belong; 

No  more  the  Muezzin  shall  call  us  to  prayer, 

But  music,  unsanctified,  ever  be  there. 

E'en  now  in  the  twilight  we  see  the  vile  cross 

Rise  proudly  in  triumph  to  mock  at  our  loss; 

And  borne  on  the  breeze  the  faint  chime  of  the  bells 

To  the  listening  ear  of  our  misery  tells. 

"O  son  of  Mahomet!   have  woes  like  to  thine 
E'er  fallen  on  mortals  from  destiny's  shrine? 
Oh  dark  is  the  future,  poor  exiles  we  roam, 
And  the  fate  of  the  captive  may  yet  be  our  doom. 
Farewell  loved  Granada!   no  more  the  brave  Moor 
In  the  mosque  of  his  fathers  shall  Allah  adore. 
But  where'er  he  may  wander  thy  name  shall  be  dear 
And  sacredly  cherished  till  Death  shall  appear. 

"Oh  fondly  we  hoped  when  life's  struggle  was  past — 
Its  conflicts  and  victories  won  to  the  last — 
That  thy  hallowed  soil,  where  we  first  drew  our  breath, 
Might  cover  our  ashes  when  silent  in  death. 

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But  alas!  the  vain  hope  now  in  darkness  expires; 
Far,  far  from  this  spot,  from  the  graves  of  our  sires, 
From  the  home  of  our  childhood  and  all  we  love  best, 
Broken-hearted  and  weary  we'll  lie  down  to  rest." 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  deepening  apace, 
And  silence  reigned  over  that  desolate  place. 
The  stars  one  by  one  from  their  ocean  of  blue 
In  sympathy  twinkled  their  parting  adieu. 
While  faintly  was  heard  the  Chieftaia's  low  tone, 
The  pitying  wind  answering  back  with  a  moan; 
The  hill-tops  around  caught  the  sound  to  endure 
And  echo  for  aye,  the  last  Sigh  of  the  Moor. 


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